A Dreamer's Bond
by hallowedmarks
Summary: The Marks came not long after the war. Everyone over 18 got one. Harry's mark came with a little extra. Tragic dreams of a princess and a knight in rebellion against Camelot haunted his nights. When Draco Malfoy's came in, he wrote them down and turned them into popular stories for young witches. Unknowingly their paths cross, setting each man on a collision course with Destiny.
1. Chapter 1

EWE, Slow burn, Soulmate AU, Reincarnation, Slash and Femslash pairs

Rated M primarily for swearing and vague references/implied sex (nothing graphic is depicted or described)

Don't own the characters, just this version of the idea. Don't like, don't read.

* * *

 _A loud crack of thunder in the late evening preceded the ethereal beauty that had appeared in the camp. One arm, a stump at the shoulder with a false limb attached, bearing the crest of the noble houses of her people. Protective sigils of her banner-men that had arrived to Albion's shores earlier that day to join the last great battle._

 _Her armor was little more than boiled leather and exotic skins molded to her lean, awkward frame. Long silver hair spilled down her back, caught in the breeze with her green cloak as she strode purposefully through the camp. Her head held high, grey-blue eyes starring straight ahead as soldiers and knights moved out of her way._

 _Many dressed similarly to herself bowed their heads and spoke softly under their breath as she passed. She came upon the tent bearing the banners of the noble houses of the rebellion._

 _And an inverted version of the High King Pendragon's banner. A red field bearing a golden dragon. Without a single touch, and with only the barest of thoughts, the curtains were cast aside and she walked right in._

 _Many men of rank stood around the central table, maps and parchments spread out as they planned their strategies for the final battle. But she focused on only one; a band of red and gold resting upon an unruly black mane. Sensing the new arrival he lifted his face to greet them. But it was shock and surprise that filled the emerald colored eyes._

 _"Vivian!"_

 _"Mordred!"_

 _"My lady, what are you doing here? A battlefield is no place for a princess."_

 _"Then it is good that I am no longer a princess," she said defiantly, her shoulders squared and her face a perfect mask of indifference._

 _"You cannot be here!" snarled one of the generals at Mordred's side. "We do not need the aid of your foul, tainted kind."_

 _"Then I will instruct the men that arrived to aid you that we should depart. And when the followers of the sorceress queen turn their magic upon you then you can die knowing that you made sure to send the 'wrong sort' back home to their nice warm beds."_

 _"Control your wench, Mordred!"_

 _She stepped forward again, her false arm seeming to crackle with an unseen force. "I may not wield a sword, Lord Cornwall, but I can fight as well as five fully trained knights."_

 _"Of that I have no doubt, my lady but you are not part of this council," one of Mordred's advisers said. This one, she noted, had been at their hidden bond ceremony. This one had also been kinder to her when she had first come to Albion._

 _"As a matter of fact-" she began, but was cut off._

 _"My sworn ally," Mordred said, shocking most of his council, "has brought us reinforcements to combat the mystic forces of Queen Guinevere. Warriors that were once promised to my father the King."_

 _"Exactly, sire. You cannot trust the words of fickle witches."_

 _Mordred seemed torn. And tired. "Leave us," he said. "We have planned and plotted the most that we can. Spend the night with your men. Write home to your loved ones. For by this time tomorrow you could very well be dining with God."_

 _She stepped to the side as the war council left the tent. Once they were alone, Mordred sighed and removed his crown and set it amongst the papers. She moved swiftly and with purpose, glancing at the maps and the parchments with only passing interest. "Mordred I-"_

 _"You promised me you would remain with your mother. You're safest across the sea-"_

 _"My place is here at your side, husband," she said, reaching out and taking one of his hands into the only one of her own. "I was compelled to come."_

 _"You know there is no hope for us tomorrow. My mother's visions... your mother's visions... Even Merlin could not withstand the power of Guinevere and the hold she has over my father."_

 _She smiled weakly, squeezing his hand before letting it go and reaching into a satchel at her side. "I have brought you gifts, husband. Call me superstitious, but I wish for you to have them with you tomorrow, for luck."_

 _"Vivian..."_

 _She produced a pendant and a stick. The pendant she pinned with practiced ease to his cloak, just beneath his chin. "This is the stone of the Black. To give you guidance and offer the wisdom of all those who have come before."_

 _"The Pendragons weren't exactly known for their wisdom, my love."_

 _"Quite. Bravely stupid, the lot of you," she said, then offered him the stick._

 _"I cannot take this. It was a gift to your brother-"_

 _"Your father's wife snapped your wand. You are a powerful wizard in your own right, Mordred. Should you lose your sword in battle, Merlin would want you to have it."_

 _"Merlin didn't even like me. Before he ever knew me, he hated me."_

 _She smiled softly. "He did not hate you. He hated the destiny that stretched out before you. He spoke highly of your skill with a wand, despite your ignorance of your own talent." She paused, giving a gentle sigh. "Tomorrow, if I survive, then I am to be a widow. We cannot change the destiny that is laid out for you and Arthur. If he had not married that banshee of a woman then... who knows what path we may have been led down."_

 _"Then why give me these gifts if you know they will do no good? Better to keep them safe with you, to protect you. Or better yet return to the Emerald Keep, to the safety of your mother's power."_

 _"You know," she said, suddenly bright and cheerful as she forced him to take the wand of elder wood from her hand. "When I was a girl I used to dream of marrying a mighty prince. Of course, I believed he would come to the Keep rather than I having to travel so far away to Albion to meet him." She reached up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. "But now, I gladly throw away my throne for just one more night with the only son of a puppet king. A bastard, no less."_

 _"A bastard with a rightful claim, as all others in line before him were killed by the woman on the throne beside the father that begat him."_

 _"True. I could have a throne again. And as king you would spoil me rotten."_

 _"Your mother has done plenty of that for me," he said with a soft smile on his lips, allowing her to draw him into the fantasy of a future together. Alive and free._

 _"Come, my King," she said, cupping his face now before sliding her hand back, back to his neck and up into his dark hair. Gently she urged him forward to meet her halfway. Her voice low, husky with desperation and need. "Let us spoil one another for one more night..."_

 _As he bent his neck down, capturing her soft lips with his own, he felt her release his neck and slide her hand down to his shoulder, over the fabric of his cloak as a cold shiver went down his spine. A sign of her magic, dark and dangerous - just as the bond that was between them._

 _Distracted as he was, he did not notice when the rich red fabric had begun to fade into white, then nothingness as her magic wove into every fiber and every stitch. Turning it translucent before it became invisible upon his back._

 _And if he noticed the burning sensation over his heart, where her magical brand had come to the surface, he said nothing. Just as she spoke no words of the fire that scorched her soul and marred the pale flesh of her breast, marking her as property of a true Pendragon._

 _Instead only their desperate gasps and the gentle rocking of a cot in Mordred's tent served as their voice while worshipful hands and reverent lips caressed the possessive marks between them._

 **oooo**

Four times a week, every week, since he had turned eighteen.

It wasn't always the same dream. But it was one of the most frequent. It always left him hard and wanting and ultimately frustrated.

Harry turned his head to look out his bedroom window. "Looks like rain," he muttered under his breath, ignoring the stinging in his chest of his soul mark.

His mark was an annoyance rather than the blessing it was meant to be. The phenomena was nothing new the the pure-bloods, but to many muggleborn and half-bloods alike the mystical marking was a fascination to be explored and examined.

Three years on and they still hadn't found the culprit who had unlocked the ancient magic that had been cast over the magical world. Though if Hermione's research was anything to go by, and Harry had learned long ago that it usually was, then really all that had been done was the breaking of a curse, allowing whatever magic caused the marks to appear to run free as it once had.

Harry, on the other hand, hated it. It was one more thing in his life outside his control. A decision that was made for him rather than one he chose.

He banished these thoughts to the back of his mind nearly as soon as they had come, instead he rose from his bed and set about his morning routine. By the time he'd climbed into the shower, the problem he'd woken with had already subsided without intervention. It was fine by Harry. He really didn't have time to deal with it this morning anyway.

 **oooo**

Ron looked up from the Daily Prophet when Harry reached across to grab a few strips of bacon for his sandwich. "You're up early," he commented.

"New bookstore opening in Cardiff today."

"Don't you usually do sports?"

Harry shrugged as he built his breakfast sandwich. "The usual guy met his match over the weekend," Harry muttered.

Hermione looked up from her book. "Wait... you're not talking about Monmouth's Mystical Manuscripts are you?"

"One," Ron said, "That's a mouthful. Two, is that really the name of the place?"

Hermione nodded as Harry shrugged again, finishing his sandwich making and heading for the door to the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. "Harry wait!" Hermione exclaimed, rising from the table and closing her book. He stopped and waited for her patiently. She thrust the book at him. "Can you get this signed for me?"

He stared at the cover with a frown. "what-"

"The author's doing a signing there for the grand opening today and I... sort of already tried to wiggle out of going to work today but I wasn't the only one in the office who's been reading these and it would really mean the world to me if you could, since you'll already be there-"

"Not another of those trashy romances... 'Mione, he's not going for fun. He's gonna be working."

"I know that, but maybe, if you've got time?" she pleaded."I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Harry thought it over a moment, checked his watch, and rolled his eyes before he accepted the book. "The things I do for you people," he complained, but his tone showed it was only in jest.

He made sure the book was tucked safely in with his camera equipment before heading out for the day.

 **oooo**

"Thank you so much for coming on such short notice," the reporter said, offering her hand to him. He accepted it, giving it a brief shake and a calm smile. "You have no idea how grateful I am that you were able to come. I don't trust the other photographers on staff but Dennis and Dennis... well..." She rolled her eyes.

Harry nodded curtly. "It's no problem, Leanne. So, where do I set up?" he asked, looking around, then he indicated the roped off area. "Is that where the line's going to be? I'd like to get some shots of the crowd just in case you need a bit of filler for the page."

She quickly walked him through what was expected of him during the signing, then what she needed of him after lunch. When she was finished, she left him to set up near the author's table where stacks of books had already been put out.

It reminded him a lot of second year when he had first met Gilderoy Lockhart. He took a few test shots of the empty table and the bookstore just to get a feel for the angles before the doors would officially open. He glanced at his watch and sighed, then cast his glamours and charms. They were slightly itchy and uncomfortable, but necessary.

He took up photography to hide behind the camera rather than always being in front of it. And it wouldn't do to have people coming to an event for one wizard but instead give all their attention away to the guy meant to be taking pictures of the proceedings. Once the public portion was done, then he could drop most of the spells. But for the next four hours...

"Okay, let's get this over with before I'm glued to a table for the next four hours," came a voice from behind him.

He turned, already bringing his camera up, ready to snap another picture when he stopped. His mouth went dry as he lowered the camera enough to look over the top. Ginny stood smiling, holding one of the books to her chest as a man in dark blue robes stood with quill in hand, signing another book. Then another.

He had signed seven in all, six piled in a stack before him. Quickly regaining his composure, Harry pushed thoughts of his ex to the back of his mind and snapped a few photographs.

"Thank you," Ginny was saying excitedly as Harry turned away, his job for the moment on pause. Leanne stepped up beside him, frowning.

"Contest winner," she said, answering a question he didn't ask. "Breakfast with the writer and a full set of autographed books."

"you could have told me she would be here," he hissed back.

"You wouldn't have agreed to come if you knew."

She was right. He wouldn't admit she was right. Things between he and Ginny hadn't exactly ended... nicely. That damned mark nonsense had seen to that. Harry sighed. "Let's just get this over with," he mumbled, getting into position as Ginny was led away through a side door. He took a few shots of the author at his table, looking for all the world rather bored as he balanced a quill on the end of his finger.

They both knew the moment the front doors opened as the sudden rush of young women (and some old enough to be their mothers) surged forward through the new bookstore. The author raked a hand through his dark brown hair before sitting up straighter and smiling. It wasn't until two hours in, and half the stack of books on the table had been signed and given away, that Harry realized the smile never reached the man's eyes.

 **oooo**

Harry sat off to the side during the interview, having taken a few photos near the beginning and already trying to work his head around which shots he wanted to keep for his portfolio. He had already decided which ones to hand over to the Prophet for the article, and which ones to turn around and sell to the Quibbler when his thoughts were interrupted. Not so much by someone trying to get his attention, but by the shift in conversation once the formal part of the interview was over.

"I'd like the name of your photographer," he heard as he was packing away his equipment for the day.

"Uh..." Leanne said, glancing towards Harry with a slight frown.

"Oh no. No. Nothing like that, I assure you," the author said. "He's not your usual man, is he? He's very professional and stays out of the way, and I like that. I'd like to keep him in mind for any future events, or recommend him to friends. That's all."

Harry reached for the small pouch where he kept his business cards, fingers grazing the spine of the book Hermione had asked him to get signed that morning. He took out both a card and the book before crossing the room they had chosen for the interview.

"Here," he said, offering the card, which listed on the back the types of work he accepted. The front was plain, save for his name, or rather, the one he worked under. "

The man accepted the card, reading the name aloud. "J. Padfoot. Interesting name," he drawled. Then he glanced at the book in Harry's other hand. He raised a brow. "A fan?"

"Not really. A friend nagged me-"

"Allow me," he said, holding his hand and with the other pulling out a muggle pen. He clicked it, and Harry handed over the book. "So Mr. Padfoot, your friend's name?"

"Ah..." he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ah?" he said, poised to write exactly that.

"No, I mean- Hermione," he said finally, not noticing the man's moment of hesitation before he nodded and put pen to paper. After scribbling a quick note he clicked his pen again and tucked it away before examining the book in his hand. "She's clearly read this a lot, hasn't she?" he asked, taking in the foxing on the edges of the pages. The numerous creases in the spine.

"It's a favorite," Harry admitted.

"There weren't many copies produced in the first printing. I'm impressed to see one in the hands of a witch or wizard. I used a muggle printing company for this run before it was picked up by a proper publishing house."

The two continued to chat quietly before Leanne gave a subtle clearing of her throat. "It's best we let Mr. Dredstone get back to his busy day. And you can hurry along to develop those for tomorrow morning's run."

"Of course," Harry said as Mr. Dredstone gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Harry returned to his equipment, tucking the book back in amongst his cameras as he readied himself to go.

By the time he'd finished, and arranged with Leanne his usual fees and a time to trade the photos for his payment, Mr. Dredstone was already gone, off to his next engagement. When Harry had dropped his charms and glamours before leaving, the store owner stopped him. "Ah... Mr. Potter?"

He sighed, turned and went to the counter. "Who do I make it out to?" he asked as he took out a pen and didn't bother looking up, ready to sign yet another damned autograph. Three years after the bloody war and he was still accosted by fans and well-wishers wanting to thank him and get their five minutes piece of him.

"Well, uh... no. This... Mr. Dredstone asked me to pass this to the photographer," he said, glancing at Harry's equipment bags. This caused Harry to look up then, spotting three books on the counter. Two identical to the one in his bag, though in pristine condition. And the third was one of the copies that had been on the table that morning.

"Thanks? I guess?" he said, accepting the books without another glance. Maybe the man was just wanting to be nice and give Hermione a new copy since her old one was, well, nearly falling apart. He shrunk them down to put in his pocket, and decided to worry about it later. He had rolls of film to develop.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Mordred, what are you doing here? If Lord Ambrose's men catch you-"_

 _"I've come to save you before he can ruin you," the young man replied, taking her hand in his own and pulling her towards the hidden corridor._

 _She resisted, pulling her arm back and biting her lip before he could see the pain on her face. "I can't. It's the only way to ensure my people's freedom."_

 _"By tying yourself to that no good two faced Frankish bastard? Vivian, you know this isn't right. Merlin-"_

 _"My brother abandoned us to seek out his own destiny."_

 _"Yes, one which brought me to you, my love."_

 _She stepped back, away from him and did her best to school her features to keep him from seeing the truth in her eyes. "Mordred, you must leave me to my fate. I am a princess, and it is my duty to my people to marry well and..." She placed her hands on her stomach, still refusing to look at him. "And provide the kingdom an heir."_

 _Mordred came forward again, taking both her hands in his own and holding them to his chest. "He... He has already..."_

 _She nodded, unable to meet his steady, warm gaze. His grip on her hands tightened, only some. It was to comfort, not to express his boiling rage. "I thank you, Sir Mordred for your concern," she said, stepping back and pulling her hands away from him. "Know that... if you were not a foreign bastard and I not a princess, I would have been so pleased to be your wife."_

 _"But you are my wife in all but name. That child could still be mine."_

 _"No... I am certain, I am with child by my husband. Please, you must go now Sir Mordred. It is improper for us to be alone together without the presence of my lord."_

 _Mordred refused to release the tears that longed to be shed. "My Lady," he said in as formal a tone as he could manage. He reached into his satchel and removed a bracelet. Softly he murmured and cast a spell over it, sending it to her using his magic and leaving it floating before her. "I wish you all the happiness in the world, My Lady. Keep this, as a token of your homeland and the friendship we once shared."_

 _Before she could respond, he was gone. Faded back into the shadows as the bracelet fell to the ground. She dropped to her knees, hugging herself and trying not to be sick at what she had just done. Delicate fingers picked up the bracelet he left behind. With the barest of touch, she could feel the brand upon her arm, black and and writhing just beneath her skin, reacting to the magic contained within the trinket. It hurt to touch the metal, and when she set it down again the brand ceased its harming._

 _She made a decision. She picked it up, swallowing hard and sliding it over her hand. It resized itself to fit her thin wrist. The pain in her arm... The pain would remind her for the rest of her days what she had given up so that she may do her proper duty._

 **oooo**

Draco sighed as he rolled over, attempting to block out the sun as he tried to cling to the last scraps of the fading dream. This one wasn't new... not exactly. Longer, though, than it had been the last few times he'd had it.

It was for naught, however, as his bedroom door was thrown open and two women hurried in, one of them waving a copy of the Daily Prophet at him. "Draco! Draco it made page two!"

He pushed himself up in bed, rubbing at his eyes as the duvet fell to expose the heraldry that had burned itself into his skin. The red dragon, claws raised, was the very same that emblazoned the muggle flag for Wales. He scratched at it, the thing still stinging from the day before. Nails scraped across old, raised scars. "What?"

"The interview, of course!"

The paper was thrust at him, already turned to the proper page. The weight of the bed shifted as the two women sat on either side of him, peering over to read the article for the fourth time that morning. "Page two! That's not too bad considering it was mostly about the books and the store. And that horrid Weasley."

"Oh oh! I love this one!" Pansy said, pointing to one of the pictures. "Oh if she only knew..."

He rolled his eyes, nudging her to let him up out of his bed and going straight to his desk, uncaring that he was only in his silk pajama bottoms. Quickly he found a pen, clicking it and scribbling on the nearest scrap of paper he could find before the last vestiges of the dream faded away.

"Oh no... Come on Astoria. He's going to be in one of THOSE moods today," she said, her companion picking up the paper before thinking better of it and leaving it for their friend.

"I'll bring you some breakfast," Astoria said as Pansy pulled her from the room. "And that muggle coffee you like!" she called back down the hallway of their flat.

Draco only waved dismissively as he continued to scribble down what he could, stopping only to sketch out the bracelet before he could lose the vision completely.

 **oooo**

The morning was spent at his typewriter, a gift from Pansy when the three of them had decided to live together in Muggle Cardiff after the war. Back when the marks first started appearing on every wizard over the age of 18. Back before the dreams had begun and he had yet to decide what to do with the NEWTs he'd earned after private tutoring.

His bedroom was his sanctuary. His office. His escape from the world outside. That morning's Daily Prophet sat on his desk beside the typewriter, a cold cup of coffee sitting atop it.

Two faces looked back at him from the page. Though in black and white, he did not need to imagine the red hair of the woman clutching the book to her bosom. He watched in fascination as the two people interacted before he cast a warming charm on his coffee and took a sip of the reheated liquid.

the man in the picture, long dark brown hair pulled back away from his face, was smiling. Calm, collected, and professional. And for just a moment as he glanced up to the cameraman, still signing the book in his hand, Draco could, very briefly, see through the mask of professionalism and see a genuine expression. it seemed very natural, for just a split second, on the false face of the public persona.

He turned his attention back to the paper in his typewriter. Staring at the black inked letters on the pristine white muggle paper as he sipped his coffee thoughtfully before he set the cup back down and laid his hands back to the keys.

Later, he would hand the stack of newly written scenes to Astoria and Pansy to read over, just as he did for all his books since he had first started turning his bizarre dreams into tawdry romance novels.

 **oooo**

It had been weeks since the Daily Prophet interview before he and the photographer were brought together again.

The dream of the princess turning her lover away had returned twice in that time. Once again he was privy to more detail than before, and had started to ensure he had plenty of supplies within reach to scribble it down or sketch it out when he woke.

He found himself signing yet another copy of a book when he heard the clicks. Looking up, brushing brown hair out of his face, he smiled. "Mr. Padfoot."

"Mr. Dredstone," the man said with a smile, lowering his camera and offering his hand once Draco passed the book back. "It's good to see you again."

"And you. Your photos from the signing were very good. I'm impressed," he said, ignoring he stinging in his chest as he shook, then let go of his hand. "You even managed to catch my good side."

"All your sides are good sides," he replied, letting his hand fall slowly back down to his side. "And thank you for the books. Hermione has the signed one in a stasis charm on a shelf now while she's devouring the new copy."

"And you?" he asked with a polite, curious smile at the photographer. He watched as the man hesitated, only for a moment as he bit his lip and shrugged.

"It's alright, I suppose. Never really gave much thought to where Merlin came from. Back at school we were always taught that he just sort of appeared one day. Like he was sprung up from the earth itself or something."

Draco was about to say more, but someone else at the charity function was trying to get Mr. Padfoot's attention. "Go on," he said to him with a slight nod. "It was good seeing you. And do tell me next time what else you make of my book."

"I will," he said with an embarrassed smile before raising his camera, snapping one last photo, and moving on to another corner of the room. Draco watched him, keen eyes seeking him out and following him in the crowd between conversations.

Astoria sidled up next to him with a glass of champagne in her hand. She wasn't drinking it, but appearances needed to be upheld. "Well wasn't he a handsome devil."

"Who? The bore in the waistcoat or-"

"You know who I mean," she said, turning a little so that her words couldn't be overheard. "You might want to reign in your longing looks love. People might start to talk"

"Let them talk," he said. "It's Dredstone they'll be gossiping about, not me."

And so Draco continued to watch. Openly and unashamed, safe in the knowledge that his glamours protected him, and the faded mark on his arm securely hidden in his sleeves.

 **oooo**

"This is very good," Pansy said one evening, reading over the latest revisions of Draco's manuscript.

"Good? No no, it must be perfect," he said, snatching it back from her.

She raised a brow before bringing the bottle of pop to her lip. When she set the bottle back down on their coffee table, she patted the sofa beside her. "Come on you silly cunt. Sit down and talk."

"I-"

"You're wound tighter than my father's purse strings. Now come sit down and start talking before I get Astoria in here to sit on you."

He glanced back at the hallway leading deeper into the flat and shook his head with a sigh. No, no, it wouldn't do to upset the woman in her delicate condition. So Draco sat, took her bottle of pop and emptied it before taking a deep breath and starting at the beginning.

His two roommates knew he had peculiar dreams. Had done since the mysterious marks had started appearing. They had been his inspiration. Transforming them from snatches of inspired dreams to tales of heroic deeds and courtly intrigues had become his life's work.

But the bracelet, the bracelet from the most recent and more frequent dream frightened him. Not because of what such an artifact could do, but because he had learned that it had existed. That it had been sitting in the Malfoy family vaults in Paris for centuries. He had written to his mother, sending her one of his drawings only to learn she'd had something just like it appraised the spring before his birth.

"What?"

"It can't be a coincidence. This... this thing has been in my family vault all this time. And I've never seen it, Pans. Never. But I'm dreaming about it. For heaven's sake, the only reason I started writing fiction is because no one would believe half the information I've uncovered in my historical research!" As if suddenly remembering Astoria, he lowered his voice again. "They still teach that Merlin just appeared out of thin air, even though I've found documented evidence otherwise. Entire genealogies that not even the Goblins can refute and still no one believes it. Because every paper, every scroll I've written on the discoveries I've made has the name Malfoy attached to them."

He threw himself back on the cushions of the sofa as Pansy turned to face him, drawing one of her legs up onto the seat to bend it inward. "You think... You honestly believe these dreams actually happened? Like you're being allowed to look into the past for some reason?"

Draco nodded, knowing he sounded insane. "That's why it has to be perfect. Not just good. I think... I think it's building to something. Something big but I can't put my finger on it. I do know that this is the last book. Whatever I'm meant to find out, whatever this is, it's like I'm possessed. I'm compelled to tell people about it."

"And it started when the mark first came?" She knew the answer. But she wanted to be absolutely sure before she formed an opinion on the matter. Before she committed time and energy to looking into it with him.

He nodded again. "A few days after," he said. "When I was inspired to write the first one."

Pansy thought for a long moment before getting up from the sofa. "Alright, here's the plan. Between the three of our families, we have access to a very large library of magical books. I'll write to Blaise-"

"No-"

"I know you're not speaking right now. I know why. But he owes me a life debt and while I was saving it for a rainy day, I know it will really be like a punch in the gut if I call it in and tell him it's a personal favor for you. So there's the massive Zabini collection at our disposal. That should be enough of a start before we expand our search."

"Pansy what in Merlin's name do you think we're going to be doing?"

"Research, of course. This soul mark business had to have come from somewhere. If what you said about the bracelet is true, then that means maybe some other parts of your stories, from your dreams, are true. The marks play a big part in... which one was it... _Pauper's Crown_?" She stroked her chin in thought. "Or was it _The Warlock's Heart_?..."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know very well it was book six."

"Ah yes... _Serpent's Secrets_. If we take the marks as common truth in the time of Merlin, then we might find some record in the old pureblood libraries of where the marks might have gone in the meantime. At the very least we might be able to find some folk tales that can give us a new perspective of the whole mess."

With that she hurried off to write her letters, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

_The mark on her breast burned in the battle. It distracted her just enough for her enemy to get a strike in. The stinging hex caught her in her side, breaking through the protective aura projected by her false arm._

 _"The bastard is dead!" cried a loud voice across the blood choked battlefield. "Bring me the whore!"_

 _Anger surged through her as more enemy forces attempted to converge upon her and her loyal fighters. "The True King is dead!" she cried in a rage, rallying her troops. "Long live the Dragon Queen!" they cried back at her as she led the final charge._

 _She fought as hard as she could, but it was not enough. As the sorcerers and soldiers of Camelot cut through the remnants of the rebellion, she was brought to her knees by one she had once called friend._

 _"We trusted you," she hissed once she had been captured and thrown before the conjured throne of the sorceress queen. Her enchanted limb had been taken as a trophy for the Queen of Camelot._

 _"You should have listened to your husband and stayed in Eire. You were not part of his council."_

 _"And neither, it seems, were you," she spat. "Traitor!" she accused. "You were a brother to him! To both of us!"_

 _"He was a bastard seeking to disrupt the peace of the kingdom and install a foreign queen. What did you think would happen?" he asked as he crouched before her, snatching the silver band of the her station from atop her head._

 _"I mark you, blood traitor. I curse you and all your kin!" She made sure when she spat that she held the taste of copper on her tongue before doing so. She may be wandless, but with her dying breaths she would use whatever means she had left to her. And blood... blood was the most powerful of all. "You will never know peace! Liar! Cheat! FILTHY WEASEL!" she screamed, watching as he rose to step away from her, wiping at the blood spittle she had sprayed into his face._

 _"Kill the whore," someone in the rabble shouted._

 _A scream. Fire close by. As a green flash is seen erupting from the throne, the traitor's head burst into mystical flame. Hair that had once been a soft, mousy brown now bore the mark of her curse. Red fire, red blood. The mark of the traitor._

 _"Weasel," the queen remarked to herself in mild amusement as the body of the foreign usurper lay lifeless on the ground before her. "I quite like that..." Empty blue-grey eyes stared into the sky even as the army of Camelot withdrew from Camlann, leaving the bodies of the slain enemy out in the open for a carrion feast._

 **oooo**

Harry hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until Luna gently nudged his shoulder to wake him. "Harry?"

He opened his eyes, staring blearily for a moment before realizing his glasses had slid down his nose. It was refreshing, not having to deal with his contacts for a few days while he didn't have any jobs booked. He smiled at her, giving a slight yawn. "Sorry, was miles away."

Luna's eyes were soft as she looked down at him. "Must not have been a very pleasant dream then, huh Harry?"

"Wh-"

She waved her hand near her ear. "Lots of little blitzies buzzing about," she said. "They're usually attracted to very sad dreams."

"I wasn't having a nightmare, exactly," he said, sitting up a bit straighter. The borrowed book from Hermione sliding down his chest some. Luna plucked it up, giving it a thoughtful look.

"This one's quite good," she said. "Not as good as _Pauper's Crown_ but dreadfully better than _Serpent's Secrets_. I didn't know you liked _The Camelot Collection_ , Harry. It's such a beautiful, but tragic story."

He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. "Well... I met the author a few weeks ago," he said. "Those pictures from that signing in Cardiff for the book review thing," he said sheepishly. "He gave me a new copy to pass along to Hermione. I guess he thought we had a good talk or something."

Luna nodded knowingly, eyes flitting briefly to his chest before she smiled. "Well, I'd let you get back to reading but you seem to be falling asleep outside waiting for Ron and Charlie to finish attempting to grill the chicken."

Harry chuckled, marking his place in the book and setting it aside so he could help his friends use the grill the muggle way.

 **oooo**

Harry wasn't sure exactly how he had been convinced to cover a pureblood wedding. But... here he was. Wearing a ring spelled to hold his glamours in place. Hermione had showed him how to do it when he'd been at a Quidditch match the week before and his glamours had fallen, revealing the inoffensive sports photographer to be THE Harry Potter, Chosen One and Boy-Who-Lived. All because he'd lost his focus trying to get a great action shot of the Harpies seeker speeding off after the snitch.

He'd just finished setting up his gear and still had a few hours to spare before the ceremony was set to start. So he enlarged a folding chair he kept in his bag and pulled out a book. The fourth book, as it happened. The one Luna had said was one of the better ones.

Harry hadn't intended to get hooked. He'd only really read the first one because he felt obligated to. It had been gifted to him, after all. When he'd finally finished it, then bumped into the author again at a charity gala, he'd gone to Hermione for the next one in the series. Now, by book four, Pauper's Crown, he couldn't wait to finish it and move on to the next, Tarnished Silver. He hadn't had to ask Hermione for the third, or the fourth books... she'd left her copies sitting out where he could find them when he suspected she noticed he was nearing the end of the previous one.

He'd nearly finished this one, too. Would have, in fact, if not for curious little details that he'd decided he needed to go back and re-read just to be sure he'd read what he thought he had. Those parts, in particular were very... unsettling to read when he realized where he had read it before - or rather seen it before.

"Oh, hello!" said a cheerful voice. Harry lifted his head, quickly straightening up and closing the book, slightly embarrassed. "You must be Mr. Padfoot," the pale, dark haired woman said with a smile.

He tossed the book back into his bag and stood. She extended her hand, fingers curled slightly in, palm down and the back facing him. He gently took it and leaned in to place a quick, chaste kiss to the back. "It's a pleasure to meet you miss..."

"The future Mrs. Parkinson," she said brightly, indicating her fancy robes. "But for a few more hours, Miss Greengrass."

"You look lovely, Miss Greengrass," he said earnestly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Knowing it was a pureblood wedding, he fell easily into the adopted pleasantries of professionalism.

"I just wanted to let you know how grateful we are that you could come. We've seen your work, and you came highly recommended by a good friend of ours."

Harry grinned brightly. "Oh? Well then, I'll have to give them a special discount or something for the referral," he said. He wasn't serious, of course, but it was only small talk.

"Mr. Dredstone, actually. He was quite insistent that we use you for our ceremony. I know it's not a very public affair, given... well... given the nature of our situation," she said, a hand resting instinctively on her stomach. "But we did so want as many keepsakes of today as possible."

He followed her hand, his grin softening to something more genuine as he realized what she meant. "Of course," he said. "Is there anything special you'd like me to do as well?"

"Ah... Yes, actually. It's a surprise for Pansy, but... I was looking through a muggle magazine last week..." she said, and pulled him into a quiet, private conversation about booking him for another series of photos she wanted to have done.

Overall, it was a lovely bonding ceremony. Given his line of work, he'd done quite a few over the last few years. Mostly muggleborn and half-blood weddings. A small handful of pureblood, but those had been personal favors rather than professional jobs. When he wasn't needed, he contented himself to his chair and his book. When all was said and done, he'd quite enjoyed himself, promising to meet the ladies after they'd returned from their honeymoon for discussing which photos they'd like to have enlarged or prepared special.

Harry had already packed up his gear, and was waiting, book in hand, for the second half of his payment. Half up front to book him, the other half at time of service rendered. Given the ceremony he'd just spent his day photographing, he shouldn't have been surprised at who had come to him with a purse filled with gold. Harry closed his book and tucked it under his arm, quietly accepting the payment from Draco Malfoy of all people. He opened it up, quickly counting it before giving a nod of satisfaction.

"Is it any good?" Draco had asked him, as if he had no idea who it was under the glamour. No idea that his worst enemy, or at least greatest annoyance, stood in front of him. And he couldn't - not with Harry's glamour ring in place. He nodded.

"Yes," he replied. "Better than I'd expected."

"I don't really read them," Draco said. "But my roommates tell me they're good."

"The first three are decent. Mostly about King Arthur, Merlin, and Guinevere while Mordred was young. This one's the best so far though."

"Really?"

Harry shrugged. "The feel of the writing is a lot different. The way he writes about Mordred and the princess... it's almost like he's there with them. It really pulls me into the scene and makes it easy to imagine it while I read."

"I might have to look into it then," Draco said politely and giving him a slight nod. "Well," he said after a moment. "Thank you for coming. Your camera work is impeccable. I'm glad they went with you."

"Thanks, I guess," Harry said, giving a curt nod and finally turning to put his book and the money purse away. When he stood back up, Draco had moved on to speak with more staff that had worked the reception.

 **oooo**

Harry hadn't had the dream about the captured princess again for a few months. Not until after he'd finished reading all the books in the series and eagerly awaited the release of the next right along with Hermione and most of the female population of Wizarding Britain.

He had run into the author, Dredstone, a few more times in that period, and had thanked him for various referrals he had made to different pureblood houses who suddenly decided he was perfect for whatever event they were planning.

He had also seen Draco Malfoy a few times as well. Usually as he had been working private parties and events.

It was a brisk morning when Harry opened the Daily Prophet to see two announcements that caught his eye. "The Parkinsons had a baby!" Ron exclaimed at the breakfast table as he read over Harry's shoulder. "My god!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, taking the paper from Harry and reading over the birth announcement quickly. "It says here that Astoria was with child at her and Pansy's bonding ceremony. And that neither will tell who the baby's father is," she said, then read a bit more. "Though... if I had to guess given by what they named him..."

"What did they name him?" Harry asked, quite interested.

"Scorpius," she said aloud. "Scorpius Parkinson."

Ron rolled the name around in his mouth a few times. "I don't get it."

Exasperated by her fiance, Hermione sighed. "Ronald, think about it. Sirius, Regulus, Andromeda-"

"Draco," Harry added, causing Hermione to blink at him. He just shrugged at her. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she said softly. "Ron, they're stars and space names. Scorpius is a constellation. What family in Wizarding Britain uses that kind of theme for naming their children?"

"Bloody hell... you think the brat's Malfoy's?"

"One, that's a baby not a brat," Harry said sternly. "Two, you really think Malfoy would let any kid of his have a name other than Malfoy?" He waited a moment for Ron to either respond or decide to keep quiet. When it was obvious his friend wasn't going to say anything, he added, "I'm happy for them. They couldn't have a baby together, so they found a way. Just like muggles do. I'm actually really glad to see more of the muggle ways of doing some things start creeping in. Maybe this way we can start getting rid of all the old prejudices we fought a war to change and stop."

"Look," Ron started, but stopped when Hermione shook her head at him, following her head shake with, "Oh look! Mawdryn Dredstone's announced a new book!"

And that was that. Hermione showed him the second announcement he'd noticed that morning, a press release giving the title of the new book and when to expect it to hit the shelves. Though both were slightly concerned about the part of the press release that stated it was the conclusion to the series.

"Just once," Harry said idly after Ron had buggered off to work. "I'd like to bump into that guy when I'm not working."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Hermione said as she cleared up the breakfast dishes. "He only knows you as James Padfoot, photographer. The moment you reveal that you're Harry Potter..."

He sighed. "I know... Either he'll throw himself at me because of the fame or he'll run for the hills because again, the fame." He picked at a twisted paper napkin on the table. "It's bad enough with this mark business going on. Everyone sending me fan mail with... rather intimate pictures in the hopes that they're a match to mine."

"Harry... your match is out there. And when you find her or him-"

Harry scoffed, yanking the collar of his t-shirt down to expose the patch of flesh over his heart, where he had the scar from the second killing curse he took. The one to destroy the horcrux in his head. There, marring the flesh, was the black triangle. The black circle inside of it, and the entire thing bisected with a single line. "How many people even know what the hell this thing is? The chances of me finding a match is one in six billion. Knowing my luck it was probably Voldemort, or Dumbledore. Or I know! Let's get a time turner and go ask the dark wizard Grindlewald! At this point, I'd rather be like Charlie and not have a mark at all."

"Oh Harry..." she said softly, moving to wrap him in her warm, comforting embrace.

Later that day, Harry would find himself standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, staring at the symbol of the Deathly Hallows on his chest. It stung, and had been stinging for months now. He squinted, noticing for the first time something different about it. The skin around it was pale, or rather, paler than it should have been. Oddly shaped, as if a strange outline surrounded it.

He didn't have time to examine it closer though, as he heard a tapping at his bedroom window. Turning, he found a gray owl patiently tapping at the glass, waiting to be let in.

He picked up his wand, casting a silent spell to open the window.

The fowl swooped in, dropped an envelope on his desk, and perched itself at the window to wait. Curious, Harry crossed his room and picked up the letter, staring at the neatly written name on the front. It was not a letter for Harry Potter.

It was instead addressed to James Padfoot. No address given, not even a rudimentary guess of "London" or "England".

He turned it over and broke the plain wax seal and unfolded it, taking in the contents before dropping it to the desk with a smile and pulling out parchment and a quill. He wrote back quickly, then frowned and remembered he was writing as James, not Harry. He crumpled it up and started over, taking the quill into his other hand and began to carefully compose his reply. He stuffed it into an envelope and sealed it, once again carefully writing out the name before handing off to the owl. He fed the creature a small treat before sending it off.

Harry stood at the window, his heart hammering in his chest as he stared after, the owl long having faded to mere speck, and then nothing, in the sky.

 **oooo**

It had been days since his letter from Mawdryn, and only a day since he had received a response to his reply. Two tickets, one for himself and one for a friend, to hear a public reading from his new book before it's released. Harry had gone straight to Hermione with the extra ticket of course.

Ron didn't seem put out in the least. Glad that he wasn't going to be dragged around to one of those things again.

Once learning of how he'd gotten the tickets, and reminding him of their conversation in the kitchen a few days earlier, Hermione cautioned her friend not to be rash. His only response was a defeated sigh, an absent brush of his hand over the mark beneath his shirt and to stare down at his cup of tea, followed by a tired, "What if he's the match, 'Mione?"

Ron and Hermione shared a look between them, frowning. They hadn't seen their friend this despondent since the year he swore up and down Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater, but no one would believe him. This, they knew, was the look of a man who had no idea what he was doing. Only that something, some bizarre reasoning in his head must be driving him to follow whatever course he'd set himself on. Ron reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at him. "What makes you say that, mate?"

After a long, tired look at both of his friends, and then looking back down at his tea, Harry finally told them about the dreams that had started not long after he'd gotten a mark of his own.


	4. Chapter 4

_They ran. Hand in hand as he pulled her along in the dark. The night sky lit up as streaks of red and blue and orange sailed overhead. She was caught by an ugly, misty-yellow light before she tripped with a shout. He turned, trying to pull her to her feet._

 _"Leave me!" she shouted at him as he desperately tried to pull her to her feet. To take her into his arms if he must and carry her the rest of the way. "We can't escape. He'll follow us to the sea-"_

 _"Then we'll sail across it," he said as another jinx sailed by. Stronger. Closer._

 _"Mor-" her word was cut off as she screamed, the green curse hitting her square in the back as she writhed in the grass, screaming in agony. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity._

 _He put himself between her and their attackers, gripping his wand tightly as he stood defiant against the dark lord that bore down upon them._

 _"Return my wife and I may spare your life." The words were cold, empty of all emotion save for the slithering hate that had always seemed to bleed off the Frankish lord._

 _"Crucio!" Mordred cried, causing the man to stop. But only... only for a mere moment._

 _He laughed. "A twinge," he spoke loudly. "A mere tickle. To make it truly harm me you must feel more than contempt, boy. You must hate with all that you are." He smiled. A sick, cold smile as he stopped, and opened his arms in a mockery of welcome. "Try once more if you can, Bastard."_

 _Something welled up inside him. Something dark and powerful rose up and the word tumbled from his lips without a second thought. The green light erupting from the end of his wand, striking at the man before him and forcing him to curl in upon himself. He screamed in agony as Mordred strode forth, bearing down upon him. Somewhere behind him, Vivian screamed in agony once again, clutching at her arm in anguish._

 _He felt it, the rush of contempt as it morphed into pure hatred. Anger bled into rage as he pushed so much force into the spell that his wand shattered in his hand, ending the spell and silencing the screams of both his beloved and her tormentor. Eyes the color of green death stared down at the crumpled lord, broken and whimpering in his black robes. Nearby, the princess cried out in pain. Mordred turned, brought back to himself as he suddenly realized what he had just done, and what the madman had done in kind._

 _He rushed to her side, stealing glances back at his fallen enemy before he decided on a plan of action. Holding out his hand towards his enemy, he focused all the magic he could into his hand. "Accio wand," he uttered, and Lord Ambrose's twisted black stick rose from where it had fallen into the grass and came straight to his hand. The weight was unfamiliar in his hand, the feel of the magic deep in the wood felt like a dark ooze attempting to seep into his soul._

 _Mordred had never successfully performed the teleportation spell before, and had always relied on his mentors to take him side-along when it was necessary. The one time he had managed to harness enough magic to travel this method, he had splinched himself so badly he had nearly lost his right leg._

 _"Mordred... Please... just go. Save yourself."_

 _He shook his head, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. He pulled her close, breathing in her scent. Even through the fear, through the sweat and the dirt, he could still detect the faintest hint of fresh baked sweets. Of lilies freshly bloomed in the gardens of the Emerald Keep. He could see it, when he closed his eyes, the shining green stones catching the light in the morning sun the first time he had ever visited the pale queen across the sea. He clung to this single vision. This one place where he had lost his heart and surrendered his soul for the woman in his arms._

 _He felt the pull then. The familiar disorientation. The sick rising in the back of his throat. Mordred swallowed it down and held her tight._

 _A crack of thunder in the night and the twisted body of the dark lord Ambrose the only indications that they had ever been._

 **oooo**

Draco woke with pain in his left arm. Pain so severe it disoriented him for a few long moments. Making him believe the last few years were a lie. A distant dream that could never be. The pain coursing through the faded mark on his flesh was just as intense as when the Dark Lord would summon his faithful to him.

He sat up in bed, clutching the mark on his arm and biting his lip to keep from crying out. When he pulled his hand away he found it coated in black and an ooze seeping out of the pores of his arm.

"Pansy!" he shouted, panic mounting in his voice as he started to hyperventilate. "Astoria!"

When the door to his bedroom was thrown open, they found Draco sitting on the edge of his bed, black liquid dripping from his arm onto the carpet, accompanied by a foul, revolting odor. Pansy turned to her wife, glancing down the hallway to the room they'd converted into a nursery. "Stay here with Scorpius. I'll... Fuck. I'll call your sister so she can come sit with you."

Astoria looked back to Draco who sat biting his lower lip and rocking on the end of his bed, trying not to make a sound. She nodded, leaning in to peck her lips before turning and going to the nursery to check on their sleeping son. Pansy immediately set to work, grabbing the nearest piece of cloth she could and taking Draco by the wrist. She wrapped his arm tightly, the black ooze quickly soaking into the fabric of the shirt she'd ripped and tied around it.

She left him only once, to retrieve the emergency portkey from when Astoria had been pregnant. It would take them straight to the St. Mungo's lobby. She wrapped an arm around her friend tightly, and activated the portkey.

 **oooo**

Draco came around to find Pansy sitting beside his bed, three empty paper cups sitting on the side table, and an old, dusty tome open in her lap.

"Where... what..."

She didn't even look up as she turned the page. "You woke up from one of your dreams, your dark mark started oozing, and you've ruined the carpet in your room. We'll never get the security deposit back if we ever move."

Her words were biting, but he could hear the underlying concern. Could see the relief on her face even if she wouldn't look at him.

"My dream?"

She shrugged. "I suppose that's what it was. They had to put you under for a few days because you kept calling out for Mordred and telling him to just leave you to die."

"What?!" He tried to sit up, but found himself too dizzy to do so, and instead his head fell back against the pillows. "Oh Merlin that's so embarrassing..."

She nodded. "I just told everyone you've been reading too many of those trashy romance novels that are so popular these days."

"You didn't."

"I very well did you silly cunt. How often am I going to have an opportunity like that come along to say that about you and your own books, huh?"

He rolled his eyes, spotting the book in her lap again. "What's that then?"

"Research. Some things the healer said about your arm reminded me of something in one of the restricted texts at Hogwarts," she said as she continued turning the pages, trying to spark her memory.

"And do you plan on telling me what the healer has said about my condition or do I just lay here in dread not knowing if I'm to die or not."

"You won't die," she said, waving dismissively. "I could never be that lucky." She grinned, and it put him at ease some. "You've got a bad case of Curse Rot. Not the worst, but not the easiest thing to treat."

Draco thought about it a moment, but before he could ask, she sighed. "Look, all I know is that the healers said there's been more and more cases of it since the end of the war. Specifically since the marks started. Apparently most of the death eaters in Azkaban have had it so bad they've lost their arms. You're lucky it was caught early." She turned another page, then visibly brightened. "I KNEW I read that somewhere before!" she exclaimed, causing Draco to wince.

She skimmed the page before relating the information to her friend. "Soul Branding became a common practice among the Frankish kingdoms as a way to seal political alliances that otherwise could be challenged should a marked claimant come forward to establish a bond match through the natural mark of a destined pair. If such a bond match were established after the soul brand has been established, the magic in the brand will begin to deteriorate, causing curse rot to set in.

"To combat the increasing number of deaths due to curse rot among the aristocracy, the Frankish nobles devised a curse ritual to remove the ability to establish bond matches by removing the source of the bonds themselves, the natural marks of the destined pairs. In the aftermath of the ritual, as the curse began to settle over magic itself, cases of curse rot death among the aristocracy fell sharply." She paused, re-reading the next paragraph with a frown. "But also starting the decline in births among magical communities, causing many to turn to other, more dangerous methods of conception resulting in... human creature hybrids..."

She let her words trail off as Draco turned his face away from her. He stared out the window into the cold, gray sky as he contemplated what she had read out to him. The implications of the sickness that had begun to take root in his arm. His case was mild, compared to others in recent years since the marks first appeared apparently. Not for the first time, and not for the last he was certain, he cursed the name Voldemort. He cursed the day his father willingly bowed to the twisted half-blood's will. And he cursed the day that he had done the same.

He had, at some point in recent history, met his perfect match along the way and had not realized it. "Pans?" he said finally.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you try to talk me into doing public appearances, I want you to hex yourself for me."

"What?! What did I do?!" she protested indignantly.

He shook his head and let out a mirthless laugh. "It's your damned fault I'm in this bed. If you hadn't nagged me about doing that stupid breakfast with the author nonsense, I never would have kept up the appearances, and this," he said, indicating his bandaged arm, "wouldn't have happened."

"I don't see how it's my fault," she replied. "So any number of people you've met since then is your very own Chosen One. On the plus side, it'll finally force you to deal with that hideous mark on your arm one way or the other." She closed the book and set it aside, reaching out to pat his knee. "Hey, it could be worse you know."

"Meeting my perfect match, whomever they are, can apparently get me killed or cause me to lose my arm. How could this possibly be any worse?"

"It could have been Potter."

Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought. "I never thought I'd see the day I was glad the bastard's become a recluse," he admitted. "I would rather be mauled by a hippogriff again than have a bond with that self-righteous, thick-headed-"

"You do realize you're probably the only unmarried magical person in all of Wizarding Europe that doesn't want to be matched with him, right?"

"Besides," Draco went on as if she hadn't said anything. "Anyone I've met probably thinks they're matched to Dredstone. The moment they find out I'm really Draco Malfoy, you know what will happen. They'll hex me seven ways to Sunday just for a start."

 **oooo**

There was a knock on his bedroom door.

"It's open!" he called, poking at the tender patch of greenish-white that had appeared on his chest over the last few days. It encompassed the symbol that marked his soul as the Master of Death, and seemed to make it stand out even more against the pale background.

The door creaked open, and he looked up at the mirror to see Hermione with two very old looking books. "Hey, do you have a minute?"

He nodded, reaching for his shirt and pulling it on. He buttoned it up only half-way, not wanting the fabric to touch the skin over his heart lest the stinging worsen again. When he turned to face his friend, he noticed her staring at his chest. "It's... changed," she said softly.

"Yeah. It's been... I dunno. Acting up for a while." He gestured towards the books. She moved to his desk and set them down One of them he easily recognized. Or rather, the symbols on it. It belonged to the Weasley family. The other though, he wasn't so sure.

"After you told us about your dreams, Ron and I were talking and decided to do what I always do."

"Research."

"Exactly. And I think we found something." She turned first to the book he couldn't identify and opened it up, flipping through the old parchment pages. "This was originally written in a time before the magical communities were united. When they were still fractured and feudal. Before even the Hogwarts Founders. This copy, of course, is a newer translation."

"Wow... that's..."

"Yeah," she said, stopping on a page she had marked. "This is a book on ancient bonding rituals of the magical peoples of the region." She pointed to a section for Harry to read for himself. "It means that when two souls are perfectly in tune," Hermione explained in plainer English for him. "They will form an instant bond that deepens over time and even distance. Unlike a regular bond match, these bonds can never be severed. It manifests in different ways for different pairs," she said as Harry read the list of ways...

"Harry, I know you don't want to hear this because I know you're so tired of being the exception to every single rule that exists but... I think you might have this kind of bond with someone. If your dreams are real, and that writer, Mawdryn Dredstone, has been writing about them then I think maybe... there's a slim chance..."

"That he's my match after all."

"Not just your match, Harry," she said, turning the page so show him the illustrations that had gone with the explanations on the pages surrounding them. "THE Match."

Harry looked down at the colorful, medieval images. Moving repetitively on the ancient parchment as they depicted the same couple, a man and a woman, at different stages of a bond. But their faces would change. Flickering between different ones before settling back on the first set again. Cycling through them over and over again. "I don't understand."

"From what I've read there are two types of marked matches. The normal ones where it's more a sign of whether or not people are compatible with one another. And the other... The pairs are inexplicably drawn to one another. The bond first starts to form when they first meet. The texts that we've been able to find so far even state that this kind of bond match can't be severed, Harry. Ever," Hermione said softly. "Even in death."

He frowned, reached down and slid his hand under one half of the book, slamming it closed. "No."

"No?"

"No. I refuse."

"This isn't exactly something you can just refuse, Harry."

"Watch me," he snapped, buttoning up his shirt the rest of the way to cover up the troublesome mark. He hissed as the fabric brushed the tender skin.

"Oh Harry-"

"Don't you 'oh Harry' me now, 'Mione. The entire course of my life has been out of my control. Everyone else making decisions for me under some delusional belief that it's for my own good. I wanted a bond, sure. I'm a miserable, lonely sod so of course I wanted one! But not like this. I wanted what you and Ron have. Safe. Comfortable. As normal as I'd ever have the hope to get given my run of luck. Not... not THAT. Not some weird mystical tragic story bullshit! I won't do it!" he snapped. "I refuse to accept it!"

"How do you think he might feel about that?"

"Don't care."

"Maybe, just maybe he started writing them down and putting them out there to try and find you? Look he doesn't even know you're, well, YOU right? He's never seen you as Harry Potter, the Chosen One."

"Why are you pushing this, 'Mione? Not that long ago you were warning me about-"

"Because it has to be true!"

"Why does it have to be?!"

She picked up the book with the Weasley family crest on it, frantically flipping through it before she found what she was looking for, then slammed it down on his desk, finger pointing to the paper. "Because of this!"

He peered over, but didn't do more than a cursory glance.

"Ron remembered reading about one of his ancestors in the family tome. The reason why his family was marked as blood traitors. When you told us about that dream, about the one where the princess was captured and killed, it had him rattled. It's a family secret that no one could possibly know. Not unless they'd read this book."

"What?"

"Sir Galavult Weslyn was put under a blood curse that marked him and all of his decedents as traitors. They were cursed with abundant fertility and ill fortune, with the curse compounding as each generation became larger than the last. The only reason I was even allowed to take this from the Burrow is because I'm... I'm a Weasley now in all but name and only a blood Weasley could take it outside the wards."

Harry stared at her, then the book, then her again as his anger ebbed and realization came upon him. "You're... You and Ron... I know the wedding's not until the end of the year but... Really?"

"This isn't exactly how we had planned to tell you, but yes," she said. "We are. And you're going to be godfather whether you like it or not."

 **oooo**

Draco picked at the bandage with a frown.

"Stop that or it'll get infected," she hissed. "You're lucky they were able to save the arm. But it'll be for nothing if you don't stop that." Pansy swatted his hand before offering him the proof copy of his latest book. And his speech notes. "Now, remember. The bottle has an auto-Aguamenti charm on it so if you empty it the bottle will refill with fresh water. Pace yourself and if the words don't look like they'll flow naturally as spoken word, rearrange or substitute them in your head before you speak."

"I know how to do public speaking, Pansy. I've been groomed from birth for-"

"Yeah, but that was before you found yourself smitten with a certain photographer," she said, turning to peer out the curtain. "And he happens to be sitting in an aisle seat, left side, middle row."

"What?" Draco said, moving forward to peer above her head. "Oh Merlin. He's there. He's here."

"You really hope it's his fault you ended up in the hospital, don't you?"

"It's still your fault," he said matter-of-factly. "You can't slither your way out of that." He straightened up, smoothed out is robes, and double checked his glamours to make sure they were perfect. "How do I look?"

"Like a Slytherin who's done nothing but make a fool of himself in public for the last six months," she said. "If I were the unfaithful sort, you wouldn't be half bad to get off with in the loo."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. Taking a few deep breaths, Draco visualized how if his father had never been the recipient of a Dementor's Kiss, the depth of how disappointed in his son he would be right at this moment. That Draco could find enjoyment in something so... common and against everything the Malfoy family name stood for. It brought him a sense of peace, a sense of rightness that what he had chosen to do with his life was the correct choice. Because it was everything his upbringing wasn't.

"Don't choke," Pansy as he stepped through the curtain, a smile on his face as he went to the podium set up for him.

 **oooo**

Harry didn't get a chance to speak to him alone after, but he had smiled when they returned home to find the same gray owl waiting at his bedroom window with a letter clasped in its talons.

"What's it say?! What's it say?!" Hermione asked, snatching it from him after he'd had a chance to read it. Her eyes widened as she read through it twice while Harry sat to write out his reply, making sure to use the hand he always did to write as James Padfoot, for Harry Potter's writing was far too recognizable.

When he sent it off, Hermione was beaming. Until she realized Harry wasn't as excited as she was at the prospect of a private meeting between the two. "I don't like that look... please don't tell me you're going to sabotage yourself again."

"What do you mean again?!"

"Cho? Ginny?... Ginny twice."

"It depends," he said slowly, "on what you mean by sabotage..." Harry played with his glamour ring absently, and the action was not lost on his roommate.

"Just... before you do anything rash, make sure it's absolutely the right thing to do," she cautioned.

"There's a lot of baggage that comes with being attached to me," he said with the knowledge that he need not give specific examples. They all knew the price of fame now. It was why Ron and Hermione had encouraged Harry to take up a hobby - a hobby that had turned into a very good and very simple career. "If he really is... if we're really supposed to be THAT to each other, then he deserves to know the truth."

"Why don't you wait and not jump to that the first time you're alone with the guy. Give him a chance to know your personality before you drop a bomb like that on him."

 **oooo**

Harry did wait.

Perhaps, he felt, he waited too long.

They met up a few times a week. They stayed in public mostly, and worked around one another's schedules as best as they could.

They would often spend their time together among muggles and were careful of how they used their magic around them. It was awkward at first as they began to truly get to know one another. There were unspoken rules between them about what was and wasn't up for discussion. The War was chief among them. Harry didn't want to give himself away too soon and Mawdryn... well, Harry had seen that haunted look on the faces of so many others in the aftermath that he knew better than to ask.

They didn't talk about their families beyond surface level things. Mawdryn was raised in a pureblood household, though when Harry had asked Ron and Hermione about the surname neither could recall hearing it before - but said it was possible that Mawdryn's family came from the continent rather than the UK. Which would also explain why he never attended Hogwarts with them. Harry, for his part, stuck to the truth. He was raised by muggles who hated magic and who hid the truth from him until he went off to magic school.

He left out the part where healers after the war had questioned how he avoided becoming an Obscurial given his life with the Dursleys.

But they did have plenty else between them to talk about. Quidditch, for one, as long as Harry avoided talking about his time as seeker for Gryffindor. Their oddly matching dreams about ancient Camelot and star crossed lovers. That had been more than one discussion over the course of multiple days as well as letters as Mawdryn explained that originally the stories had been based on historical research he had been doing at the time... and then his mark came in and the dreams had started. Much of what he had dreamed corroborated the bulk of his research, but he knew to present the facts as he had found them would have labeled him a lunatic.

Harry, for his part, had told him what little he and his friends had been able to learn about the marks and different types of bonds. His companion had laughed, explaining about the deep research his roommates had been helping him with when he had realized the dreams were most definitely based on at least some shred of reality.

Aside from the heavier subjects, gardening had become a surprise favorite topic between them. They had wasted hours one weekend arguing between them on the merits of muggle methods versus magical methods for planting roses.

The end of the year had come upon them before Harry had realized it, and he had yet to tell Mawdryn the truth. It wasn't that he had avoided doing so - at least not consciously. But Harry simply kept telling himself he would do it at the right moment. That this wasn't a good time.

It was never a good time to do it. So when they had been out on a day trip in muggle Cardiff, standing alone out on the pier overlooking the bay, the pair of them huddled together under a heat charmed blanket...

Harry knew he could hold it back no longer when his laughter at some inane joke had been cut off by a tentative kiss. Just a quick brush of winter-chapped lips against his own. A shy, uncertain but hopeful smile lingering on the face of the man who'd just done it.

"Mawd, I-"

"Sorry," was the instant response. "I... You just looked so... so happy."

"I am happy. I'm always happy when we're together. That's... that's part of the problem," he said softly, looking away. Looking back at the water. The water and the crashing waves were safe. He didn't have to see the confusion, followed by the concern, or possibly horror at what he was about to reveal. "But I can't go on like this."

"Look, it was just a kiss. It doesn't have to mean anything. It was stupid of me."

"No, it wasn't. And it does mean something. Something big."

"James, you're starting to not make sense. Are you sure you're over that cold from last week?"

Harry drew a deep breath and shrugged out of the blanket. "Mawdryn, I'm sorry for what I'm about to show you and... and I would understand if you don't want to meet with me anymore." After a quick glance around to ensure they were still alone, Harry summoned up as much of his famous Gryffindor courage as he had left in him and slipped off the glamour ring.

Though he wasn't brave enough to open his eyes. He didn't think he could bear to see the reaction on the other man's face. The world seemed to still. He held his breath as he listened. Listened for any sign or indication of what his companion may be thinking or doing. A gasp was the first sound before the world came crashing in again.

"No... No. Not you." he heard him say. Harry opened his eyes, turning the death green gaze upon the man he'd found himself falling head over heels for looking back at him with such... revulsion. "I'd rather anyone but you."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lie to you. I wanted to tell you before now but... I was afraid."

"You? You of all people afraid? Of what?!"

"Losing this," Harry said, taking a step forward only to stop when Mawdryn took a step back, snapping at him angrily not to touch him.

"I can't do this. Not right now."

Harry was silent, willing himself not to react. Wishing he had his glasses to hide behind rather than his contacts.

"I need to leave," Mawdryn said as he backed away, still wrapped in the charmed blanket as he pulled out his wand. An angry glare, and words in the same tone to match. "Don't try to follow me, Potter," he spat the last word out without thinking before apparating away.

Harry stared after him, squeezing his fist around the glamour ring before giving a mournful howl, throwing the accursed thing into the sea and leaving back to London. Back to the loneliness of his bedroom at Grimmauld Place.

He locked himself into his room with a bottle of Dreamless Sleep, not wanting the vivid reminders of Mawdryn's rejection to creep upon him in his slumber.

 **oooo**

Draco was angry.

He was hurt.

But most of all he was still in shock.

When his roommates had come home expecting at least a few more hours of quiet time to themselves since the babe had decided he was more interested in sleeping than he was visiting his Greengrass relatives, they were quite surprised to see him sitting on their sofa with a cold cup of herbal tea and staring at the wireless that sat on a false-mantle across the room.

When Astoria had gently tried to ask him if he was alright, he had turned to look at her, but it felt to the woman that he was simply staring through her at the wall behind. Two words fell off his tongue, and he said nothing more for the remainder of the evening.

"Fucking Potter."

The two women seemed to communicate through a complicated series of facial expressions and silent hand gestures before nodding slowly as if coming to some agreement. "Alright, Draco," Pansy said with hands on her hips as Astoria took the mug of cold tea from him, setting it on the coffee table. "This calls for something a lot stronger than calming tea. Up you get. We're going out."

He didn't say anything but he didn't move either. Not until the grabbed his right arm and hauled him up. "We're going to the local and I'm getting you the strongest muggle spirits they've got."

And that's exactly what she did. He said nothing the entire time, but he drank. And he drank.

And he drank.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't dream.

And when he woke in the morning the only other thought in his head other than the blinding agony of a hangover was that the world was once again conspiring against him because why else would the handsome photographer that he may or may not have been hoping was indeed his perfect match to the mark on his chest... turn out to be Harry bloody Potter.

 **oooo**

The only reason Harry left his bedroom two weeks after the disastrous reveal of his identity was because he couldn't get out of the dress robes fitting for Ron and Hermione's wedding. He, Ron, Seamus, and Neville had just left Madame Malkin's when the subject of Seamus finding his match had come up.

"What's she like?"

"Ah, she's perfect. Smart, funny, doesn't know I make cauldrons explode just by looking at them. American. Muggle born, too. Though over there they call 'em no-maj."

"No-maj?"

"No magic," Seamus said, and then delved right into the cultural issues they'd been navigating together when they would visit one another. Harry wasn't even paying attention as they walked down the cobblestone street. His hands were buried in his pockets, his head down. He hadn't even noticed when the flashbulbs and whispers had started. Only that his three friends had arranged themselves around him in a natural protective sort of buffer between him and the general public.

It didn't stop the press from trying to reach him but it did at least make it a little harder for them to get his picture. They managed to give the reporters the slip by ducking into Flourish and Blotts after Neville mentioned needing to restock his parchment supply. Seamus and Neville wandered off as Harry browsed around the front, Ron keeping an eye out on the entrance just in case a camera happy fan spotted them through the windows.

Harry froze when he came to a display, a strip of paper stretched across a sign blocking out some of the lettering and part of a photograph Harry himself had taken all those many months ago.

"Canceled?" He hadn't realized he'd spoken until the shopkeeper, spotting that the famous wizard, Harry Potter himself, looked like he might be on the verge of making a purchase had come over to try and close the sale personally.

"Oh that... yes. It's a pity. He's quite popular with the lonely housewife crowd. I always sell quite a lot more than just his books when he's in doing a signing."

Harry swallowed, trying not to let the concern show on his face. From their time together, even as just friends, Harry knew the man had grown to enjoy promoting his books and meeting his fans. Sometimes a witch around Hogwarts age would bring him a little story to read of their own at events like that, and he'd read it over before offering encouragement or advice. He'd watched through the buffer of his photographer's lens as Mawdryn had started to open himself up more. Started engaging his public more. Shifting from a position of reluctance to genuine passion for his craft and pride. He had spent lunches and afternoon walks listening to him talk about how much he enjoyed some silly Q&A session for a book club. Or how much he was looking forward to a speaking engagement at a library - how he had hoped HE could get something signed for his own personal collection from one of the writers that had inspired him.

"Do you," he started, his mouth dry. "Do you know if he can reschedule or... or if he's ill or something?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Just... got an owl yesterday apologizing for the last minute notice with the full appearance fee returned as well."

"Really?"

Harry turned away from the display when he heard Ron calling for his attention. "We'd better go mate. The fanclub's found us." Ron gestured towards the window and the crowd gathering outside.

"You guys go on out the back," Seamus said, popping out from a narrow passage between shelves. "Me and Neville will keep 'em distracted. Meet you back at your place?"

"Yeah," Harry said distractedly before Ron came up, urging him towards the back of the store.

 **oooo**

For two weeks he couldn't eat and he couldn't sleep.

Even when he did sleep, the dreams that had become such a strange comfort to him over the years after the war did not come. It was as if a switch had been flicked and they had simply... shut off.

The first week he spent composing letters, canceling his scheduled appearances - or rather, those of his pseudonym - for the foreseeable future. Pansy had called him an idiot. Astoria looked on him with pity in her eyes.

After that first week, he couldn't bring himself to be around them nor to visit places in the muggle areas of Cardiff that he used to enjoy. Not without remembering the false face he'd gradually grown fond of. Not without being reminded that it was all a lie.

The second week, after he'd gone back to the local and gotten himself blackout drunk off muggle liquor Pansy had taken him to his mother in Wiltshire. She had warned him quite plainly that he would not be allowed back into the flat until he had gotten his head back on straight and stopped trying to sabotage his career.

Instead, Draco spent the entire second week in bed. Mostly he stared at the ceiling. Or at the patch of scarred flesh where the Dark Mark had once been. Where the brand that had marked him as one of Voldemort's slaves had begin to rot away, attempting to spill poison into his blood as one last, final strike from beyond the grave. It was now a patch of pink skin stretched over damaged muscle. Healing, yes, but slowly. The magic of his core having to work to repair the damage done to his body.

He never looked at his mark, avoiding shirts that required him to look down or look into a mirror to button. It served only to remind him of the man it represented. Of the dreams that no longer came to him when he closed his eyes.

On the fifteenth day after he had learned the true identity of his marked match, Draco finally emerged from his bed. The house elves wouldn't leave him be, insisting that his mother did not request his presence. Rather, she had demanded it.

When he had arrived in the formal parlor, he hesitated at he door a moment before schooling his features and seating himself in a rather uncomfortable chair to her right. She leaned forward to set her teacup on the small table that divided her from her guest.

"Thank you, Draco, for finally gracing us with your presence," she said with one of her false smiles. He turned his attention to the figure seated across from her.

"Potter," he said, willing his voice to remain calm.

"Malfoy," he returned back.

"Mother, why is he here?"

"While you have been indisposed, your father has died. Mr. Potter is here at my request as I have decided it is time to settle a trifling matter of his life debt."

"Father... father's dead?"

She hummed to herself a moment. "Curse Rot had taken hold in his left arm," she said, watching as her son shifted in his seat some, moving to turn and cover his own left arm. "The remnants of the Dark Lord's final strike against those who failed him."

That was not the reason, not entirely. He and Pansy had spoken at length about curse rot in relation to the mark that bound him to another - to Potter now that he had learned Padfoot was a fiction. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that she brought the affliction up deliberately, but to what end he could only guess.

"Can we please move this along," Harry muttered. "I've got things to do."

"Quite right," Narcissa said with another cool smile. "I wish to have this business concluded as quickly as possible."

"What business?"

"The end of the House of Malfoy, dear," she said as if such an utterance was an every day occurrence. Draco stared at her, and could feel eyes turning to him in confusion.

Harry cleared his throat. "Excuse me... could you say that one more time?"

Narcissa nodded, folding her hands in her lap. "With the death of Lucius, my son is now head of this household. He has already taken measures to ensure the family name will die with him," she said simply. Her thoughts on the matter were hidden from him behind her carefully constructed mask.

"What's that got to do with me?"

"My cousin, in his foolishness, named you as his heir did he not?"

"Sirius?"

"Yes," she said simply as Draco stared at her. Trying to pick her apart and see where this was going. "Upon his death you became the head of House Black. As a widow, I am able to revert to my family name. Draco, however, cannot unless he renounces it. Under normal circumstances this is not an issue. However there are certain... long standing family curses that must be broken first. Curses that have been in place for hundreds of years that can only be broken by a Malfoy. If he were to renounce his name, or die before these curses are broken then they can never be undone. The breaking of one such curse requires witnesses. Specifically, all those affected by the curse itself."

Harry frowned, not quite understanding. Draco looked from his mother to Harry and back again. "Mother? What exactly are you planning?"

"I have watched two wars decimate our people. Both light wizards and dark. Muggleborn and pureblood alike have suffered needlessly and we simply do not have the numbers to rebuild our society. In the short term, yes we are recovering from the Dark Lord's war, but in the long term... steps had to be taken to ensure the continued survival of our kind."

"What steps? Why am I even here?"

"Three years ago I went to the Weasley family with a proposition," she said, and it was only now that Draco realized she had two scrolls on the seat beside her. He frowned, annoyed at himself that he had missed them in the first place. "One that I knew would be difficult for Arthur to comprehend until he had time to truly consider what I and the other pureblood houses meant to do." She picked up a scroll, and offered it to Harry. "This is the original contract between the Sacred Houses both here and abroad to put an end to the soul marks once and for all." When Harry did not take the scroll, Draco leaned forward to take it. He looked it over, frowning as he read over it. Harry wouldn't have been able to read much of it anyway, he knew.

In some of their conversations as James and Mawdryn, they had discussed the research that went into his writings. The long hours he spent translating old, crumbling documents that in themselves were copies of even older, now lost works. And Harry had admitted he always had trouble learning new languages. Sure, Latin was easy enough as long as he stuck to the spells and incantations only. But outside that...

So the old languages of the Frankish and Old Norse and Old English would never have been understood by the man on the two-seater across from Draco's mother.

"And this," she said, producing another scroll. This one was much newer, Draco noticed. The parchment crisper and fresh. "This is the contract of the remaining pureblood lines that were involved in the original curse, signed in blood. This is what broke the curse on the magical people and prevented the marks to appear."

This one, Draco noticed, Harry accepted. He read it over, frowning as he subconsciously adjusted his shirt with his other hand. Draco looked away, wondering what the mark on Harry's skin looked like and hoping, in vain he knew, that he was wrong and Harry wasn't his match after all. Draco rolled the scroll and leaned forward to set it on the low table as his mother picked up her teacup again. She and Harry were talking over something. What it was he couldn't be certain, instead absorbed in his own thoughts.

He cast his mind back to his dreams. To the princess and the bastard. To Lord Ambrose and his violations, forcing the princess to marry him in order to keep the peace. Back to Mordred and his attempts to free her from her husband only to discover she was bound by dark magic. By a mark created to enslave her to his will. The pain that would course through it when she disobeyed. To the agony she suffered as Lord Ambrose suffered under Mordred's wand.

He stood, holding his arm as realization came to him. His stomach felt like it was doing flips, bile rising in the back of his throat. "Excuse me," he said softly, not knowing nor caring if they heard him before he left the parlor. He made his way to the nearest bathroom, knowing he would never make it to his private chambers. Draco had not felt this sick since the night he had learned the man he had fallen in love with was actually the one person he believe it could never be.

 **oooo**

Harry was furious when he arrived back at Grimmauld Place. So furious in fact that he had hardly noticed that he nearly crumpled up the two scrolls Narcissa had ensured he took with him when he left just moments after Draco's sudden departure.

When he had at last calmed down enough to tell his friends and roommates what had happened and why Narcissa Malfoy of all people had wanted to meet with him, Ron was equally angry. Hermione though... was thoughtful.

She glanced over to the bookshelf where a stasis charm held her signed first edition Muggle Printing of "The King's Bastard" and sighed. "Well," she said after a long moment, causing her fiance and her best friend to stop their ranting and look at her. "We had already planned on Harry bringing a Plus One with him..."

"No way. I am NOT having Draco Bloody Malfoy at my wedding!" Ron ranted angrily.

Harry was in agreement, but his hands were tied. "She invoked the life debt," he said, his expression grave.

"Damn it!" Ron snapped bitterly, throwing himself into a chair by the fireplace.

"I'm sorry. I tried to get her to agree to something else, anything else. But she's dead set on making sure Draco is at your wedding. Something to do with a curse that only a Malfoy can break."

Ron stilled. His anger was still simmering, just below the surface. Hermione stood and went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he glared at the fireplace. "I'll... I'll be in my room," Harry said when he couldn't stand the tension anymore. "I'll leave the scrolls here in case you wanted to look over them, 'Mione. She said the Weasleys should be getting their copy at the start of the year."

When Harry was half-way to his room, Hermione had caught up with him. "Harry wait," she said. He stopped but didn't turn. She knew from experience he wouldn't reply, but he would at least listen. "I'm not thrilled with the idea of Malfoy at my wedding," she said softly. "But if this is what I think it may be..."

"Don't," he said. "I can't think about that right now." Harry continued to his room, locking the door with so many privacy and locking charms that it would take even Hermione hours to break through them all.


	5. Chapter 5

_"You have... children?"_

 _He nodded. "I do."_

 _"Do you love their mother?"_

 _"During our time together, I did love her. Sadly... love is not enough to stop death."_

 _"Mordred... I didn't mean..."_

 _"It's alright," he said as she laid a hand on his arm. "Her father knew she was fragile and sought to be rid of her. He was a cruel and vicious man. Her mother came to court and begged my mother to speak to the King on her daughter's behalf."_

 _"And so he married her to you."_

 _Mordred nodded. "To save her from her father's abuse, yes. We did not have long together, but she was happy. She was cared for. She was loved. She gave me three strong sons."_

 _He felt her hand slide down his arm to his hand. She laced their fingers together with a soft, but secretive smile. "Tell me about them, your sons."_

 _"There isn't much to tell. The elder two are twins. Antioch is... difficult at the best of times. He has all the arrogance and fire of a Pendragon in him while his brother Cadmus is... willful, but also very wise for a boy no older than ten. More like my mother than his own." Mordred smiled, chuckling to himself as Vivian brushed some of her own stray silver hair back._

 _"And the youngest? What is he like?"_

 _"Ignotus is..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Kind."_

 _"Kind?"_

 _"And caring. Thoughtful. He has much of his mother in him." Mordred was quiet then. Vivian let go of his hand and leaned in closer, and he wrapped his cloak around her to keep her warm. She snuggled in close as they stood at the top of the Emerald Keep, watching as snow fell on the rest of the castle beyond the enchanted green marble walls of the royal residences. "Vivia-" Mordred began, but stopped when soft lips brushed his own, chapped by the harsh winter winds._

 _He stared down at her as she pulled her face away. Her normally calm, cold mask of royal indifference slipping away to reveal a brilliant smile that seemed to shine in the moonlight._

 _"Sorry," she said, still smiling. "That was silly of me. Here you are telling me about your family and I-"_

 _Her words were cut off as he touched her cheek, guiding her mouth back to his own for another taste of shimmering moonlight. The kiss was slow and deliberate. The press of lips were promises that propriety and station dictated they could not share. The touching of tongues a silent prayer for more than the fleeting brush of fingers and the longing glances across the great hall of the Queen's court._

 _When they broke for air, sweet, cold, life giving air, she pulled away just far enough to take his hand and place it to her bosom, over her heart where she felt the burning fire even on the coldest of nights. "You know I must marry when spring comes. If we are to do this... we must be careful. I cannot fall with child."_

 _He stepped forward, reaching with his free hand for her own and bringing it to press against his tunic, right over his heart. "I only ask what you are willing to give and no more. If the memory of your lips on mine is all I can have, then I must be satisfied."_

 _She laughed. "Would you stand by and watch me marry another? As is my duty?"_

 _"Yes. And then I'll probably make you a widow and steal you away like any knight here to rescue a distressing damsel."_

 _She laughed again and gave him a sly smirk. "There's the self-righteous Pendragon. I knew he was hiding in there somewhere. If I give myself to you, truly, then you will never let me go. You would start a war if you believed it would keep me by your side."_

 _"You're right. And I would gladly welcome death and stand unarmed before the Dark Witch Guinevere herself than watch those I love be forced to submit against their will."_

 **oooo**

Harry woke with a gasp on his lips and a very confused body. It didn't know if he should be aroused, panicked, annoyed, or downright concerned.

There had been no fear. No violence or great battles. No anger nor sorrow. Sadness, yes. But it felt more like an old ache. Like missing those he'd lost long before the war. Where the dreams before had been hurried and hectic. Scenes of action or desperation, this one had been tenderness.

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up, shaking off the last vestiges of slumber as his mind pushed the visions and dreams to it's darker corners. There was too much to do and he could always sit in a corner and brood about his strange dreams later.

The morning went by in a hectic manner. George had lost his bow tie. Ron was worried Hermione was going to change her mind. Harry had misplaced the rings in a panic when he realized he had to leave to fetch... ugh... Draco Malfoy. Arthur was greeting various distant relations, some of whom had to be bribed into coming all the way out to the Burrow for the wedding.

Then there was the sudden appearance of Kingsley Shacklebolt, which sent off a flurry of murmurs among the more reclusive Weasley relations who didn't actually believe one of their own actually was a war hero who fought alongside THE Harry Potter. Percy, who'd only just started talking to the family again, fainted when the Minister of Magic had arrived. Fleur was trying to calm everyone down while Bill hid with Arthur doing last minute adjustments to the tents.

Charlie had yet to arrive, but was due any moment now.

And Ginny... Ginny sat with Hermione, doing her hair and making sure her dress fit just right and reassuring her that the groom and his best man would be there waiting for them. And that no, Malfoy wasn't going to spoil everything. No, Hermione, your baby bump isn't making you look ugly. Yes Hermione we all love you and welcome you to the family...

And so on. And so forth.

By the time Harry had found the ring box and passed it on to Neville to keep safe for him while he was gone, the stuffy and foreboding aura of Malfoy Manor was a welcome slice of heavenly peace compared to the chaos back at the Burrow.

The wards had let him in without a problem, and the house elf that had answered the door had led him to a parlor that, try as he might, recalled some rather terrible and vivid memories despite the distance of years.

"Potter," he heard from the doorway as he'd decided to busy himself with examining a bookshelf. It was odd, to see a mixture of muggle and magical books on a shelf in the Malfoy Manor of all places. He had just about reached for a book when Malfoy had found him.

He turned, spotting Draco in the doorway of the parlor. He wore a simple suit in dark blue. "Is this appropriate? If not it isn't any trouble to go ch-"

"No," Harry said, swallowing and trying to keep his face under control. He was unsure how he was doing, as Malfoy blinked at him and simply just stood there. One hand in the pocket of his trousers and the other hanging casually at his side.

"Oh..." he replied. "I'll only be a moment then."

"No, I mean, yes. I mean-" He cut himself off and drew a deep breath. "It's fine."

Draco gave a small, polite smile. "Alright then. Are we to floo, portkey, or apparate?"

"Apparate," Harry said. "The floo's closed after half the family tried to come through at the same time. Ron's great aunt Ophelia was stuck in the floo for over an hour this morning."

Draco gave a small nod as he checked his pockets with a small frown of concentration. "I seem to have everything I need."

"Why do you even want to go, anyway? It's not like you actually LIKE them. And it's not even one of those big pureblood parties."

"I must confess if I were to have a choice I would leave the weasel and his fiance alone today. Unfortunately before I can dissolve this house I have to rid it of a few things first."

"Family curses," Harry said, recalling what Mrs. Malfoy had discussed with him before.

"Family curses," Draco confirmed. All attempts at further conversation from Harry, just to fill the awkward void between them, were ignored. His few responses were to take hold of Harry's offered arm for side-along due to the Weasley wards on the Burrow. And to acknowledge that he would sit quietly in the back and mind his own business.

Though shortly after they had arrived, Harry had to return to Ron (after giving Draco another stern warning of course), and he was unable to keep total track of the Slytherin git before the ceremony. When he DID spot Draco again, he was deep in quiet conversation with both Minister Shacklebolt and, of all people, Arthur Weasley. Harry wanted to check it out, but he couldn't leave Ron's side. Not just yet.

 **oooo**

When Draco had finished speaking with both the Minister of Magic and Mr. Weasley, he retreated to a seat in the farthest corner, tucking himself out of sight and hopefully out of mind until it was time for him to do what he had come to do. He had reached into his suit jacket, removing a small leather-bound journal and enlarging it before taking out a muggle pen and clicking it.

His dream from the night before was still fresh in his thoughts, and he had managed to write most of it out before he'd had to dress for the Weasley-Granger wedding. He scribbled down his thoughts, looking at the barely legible notes from that morning as he planned out a scene for another story. _Deathsong_ may have been the end of his stories of Camelot and Mordred's rebellion, but it was not the end of the story. Not by far.

" _Antioch the bold. Cadmus the wise. Ignotus the kind_ ," came the sing-song voice from beside him, reading the words at the top of his current page. He looked up to see Luna Lovegood settling back in her seat after having peered over his shoulder. She looked... almost normal in a white dress with red trim. A simple affair, really. With a matching shrug in white with red piping. A lone cellery stalk was pinned to the lapel of her shrug. Earrings the shape of question marks dangled from her ears, the punctuation swinging with every turn of her head.

Draco frowned at her.

"Sorry," she said sweetly. "I didn't mean to disturb you." She leaned in a little too close for comfort. "If you want to keep writing, I don't think they can see you from the front. So if you don't pay attention no one will really mind."

He adjusted his position to keep her from reading his notes again and gave her a small, tight smile. "You look..." he said, fighting back the memories of the young woman - just a slip of a girl then - locked away in the dungeons beneath his ancestral home. "You look lovely."

Her smile could light up the tent. She gave a small nod back to him. "And you look very handsome."

 **oooo**

The ceremony was a mixture of muggle and wizarding customs, much to the Weasley clan's delight. It seemed their fascination with all things muggle was not limited to Arthur alone, but was indeed a trait shared by many of the blooded relations.

Draco had surprised, well, anyone that knew him actually. He had kept to himself for the most part, and those who did interact with him found him to be generally pleasant and polite in disposition. It was as if he were a very different person than the prideful, snarky bastard they all knew in school.

Throughout the ceremony, when Harry stole glances towards him, he saw Draco sitting attentively as if he truly were interested in the proceedings. Harry found he was surprised when Draco actually clapped and smiled along with everyone else when the ceremony was concluded.

A small speech was given, and it was only then that Harry realized most non-red haired guests had started to head towards the second set of tents set up with food, tables, and enchanted instruments. Though some remained, they were mostly the wives and husbands of various Weasley relations.

Hermione glanced to Harry when it was clear Draco did not leave with them. She frowned at him, and he only shrugged.

"Everyone come a bit closer," Arthur was saying over the murmur of his family. Some just as confused as Harry and his friends. Harry realized that Minister Shacklebolt had also remained behind. "We have a very important, if odd, announcement to make."

"Can we hurry this along? I'm starving!" called a voice Harry recognized as Charlie. Ah... so he did make it after all.

"I assure you, this will not take long," Kingsley said as the Weasley clan all gathered around.

"Should I, uh, go?"

"Mr. Po-"

"I would like Potter to stay. He has a right to know why my mother insisted so strongly that his life debt to her be paid in this way," Draco said when he suddenly appeared at one side of the Minister.

Kingsley only nodded as Draco stepped out and stood in front of Arthur Weasley.

"What's this all about then?" Ron groused, only to catch an elbow in the side from his mother and a strong silencing charm to keep him quiet for the duration.

Draco cleared his throat, drew a deep breath, and kept his expressions as unreadable as possible. "Mr. Weasley," he began. "Firstly I thank you for allowing me the opportunity to attend your son's wedding. It was a lovely ceremony and I wish both Ronald and Hermione a very long and happy life together." Arthur nodded to him, but he did not smile. "Secondly, I apologize for doing this here and now. However due to the sheer size of your family I understand it is difficult to gather them all together, and I could see no better opportunity to perform this particular curse breaking."

Hermione gasped as she clutched at Ron's arm. A collective whisper started among the family gathered around them. Kingsley nodded to Draco so that he may continue.

"As the Head of House Malfoy, the line of Lord Ambrose duFoi and Lady Vivian of Eire," Draco said, holding his hand out towards Kingsley. The Minister of Magic used his wand to cut a shallow line into Draco's hand, causing another murmur to ripple around Harry and his friends. "I forgive the betrayal of Sir Galavult Weslyn at Camlaan. The line of Weslyn has proven their loyalty to the houses they once betrayed. With the blood of Vivian, who marked him and his kin, I break the curse of the blood traitor."

Harry watched in morbid fascination as Draco dipped his index finger into his own blood and stepped closer to Mr. Weasley, who cringed and nearly stepped back and away from him. Draco reached out and using his blood to draw a symbol on the man's cheek. Hermione's grip on Ron's arm tightened and her knuckles turned nearly as white as her gown. Harry turned his head slightly to watch his friend's faces. They, too, recognized what the symbol was.

A hush fell over the Weasley clan suddenly. Draco stepped back, healed his hand murmured something under his breath and the bloody mark was gone.

"I thank you, Lord Malfoy," was all Arthur said as Draco gave a small bow.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lord Weslyn," Draco said politely as he turned to go, the crowd of red parting to allow him to pass. A mixture of shock, awe, and confusion on all their faces.

Harry looked at his friends again, Ron having been released from the silencing charm his mother had cast on him. "Bloody hell," Ron said when he was allowed to speak again. "Talk about a hell of a wedding present."

"Ronald," Hermione scolded.

"What? You know I'm right. Who else can say they got a centuries old family curse broken AND a blood feud ended at their wedding? No one, that's who."

Hermione lowered her voice, turning to Harry. "Go after him."

"What? Why?"

"He drew the sign of the Hallows, Harry." She poked his chest, right where his mark was. Where the same symbol and burned into his flesh, and stung with the lightest touch of Draco's hands on his arm when they had side-along to the edge of the wards. "It might mean something to him. Go. You might not get another chance to ask."

Harry looked after him, then gave his friends each a hug quickly before sprinting off in the direction Draco had gone. Once he was far enough away from the party, he called out to him but could not find him. Quickly he took out his wand and cast the Point Me, and jogged off in that direction.

When he finally spotted Draco from the top of a small hill, the man himself having found a quiet patch at the edge of the wards, Harry called out to him. "Hey Malfoy! Party's back that way!"

"Which is exactly why you should turn around and go back, Potter!" Malfoy shouted back at him, even as he was heading down the hill towards him. "I'm sure Weasley and his wife will notice you gone."

Once Harry had come to a stop roughly a yard and a half away from where Draco sat on an old felled tree, he rolled his eyes. "They're the ones that sent me after you," he said. "Well, Hermione did."

"Of course," Draco sighed and rested his hands on his knees. "Well, you can return to your friends and assure them it was no trick. They should start to see the effects within the current generation. I'm not plotting or scheming or anything of that nature and would just like to be left alone to think before I return home."

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed, crossing his arms across his chest. "That's not why I came down here," he said. "But that's good to know in any case."

"Then why are you still bothering me when you could be back at that... house," Draco said, as if self correcting at the last moment. "You should be with your friends celebrating the happy occasion."

Harry shrugged and closed the distance to sit on the other end of the old tree trunk. "I will. Just not right now."

"I don't need you to watch over me."

"I never said you did."

"What part of I wish to be left alone do you not understand, Potter?"

"Misery loves company, Malfoy."

"Who said I was miserable?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, then stared down at his hands before shaking his head. "Never said YOU were the one that was miserable either."

They sat there in silence a long while, even as the sun began to set and the strength of the warming charms each man had cast about themselves began to wear thin. At last, Malfoy stood and began to walk further away from the Weasley wards, intending to get far enough away to apparate safely home.

"Malfoy," Harry said suddenly, causing him to stop and turn part-way to look at him.

"What now, Potter?"

"That symbol you put on Mr. Weasley. What was it?"

Draco frowned and thought for a long moment before "What does it matter? It's just-"

"I've seen it before."

"So why are you asking me about it?" Malfoy replied with a tired sigh. "Look I-" he started but Harry interrupted him.

"Nearly everyone I know who knows about it is dead. I just thought-"

"Thought what?"

"That maybe you could tell me more about it?"

"Do I look like a history book to you?"

"No, but you are a historian aren't you?" Harry asked plainly.

Draco stared at him as if he'd grown a second or even a third head. Then he frowned. "What gave you that idea?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I..." he started. "A friend of mine said he based some of his writing off articles he read about Merlin and Camelot. I was curious so Hermione and I went looking for them." Had Harry been looking at his unwanted companion for the wedding he would have witnessed the surprise, then the sadness spread across Malfoy's face before the man turned away from him. "Sorry. I shouldn't have-"

Draco sighed, making a quick decision. "Before the symbol was appropriated by the Peverell brothers as the mark of the Deathly Hallows, it was the Brand of Vivian. It represents the three traits she valued above all others. Boldness. Wisdom. And Kindness."

"Why use that specific symbol then?"

"Vivian cast the curse. So her brand must be used to end it. Ask the one that married the Veela girl if you want to learn more about simple curse breaking, Potter."

Malfoy slipped away shortly after, and Harry headed back towards the Burrow. When he came within sight of the tents, warm and glowing with magical lights and candles on each table, he grinned.

"There you are!" George had exclaimed when he was close enough to spot. "You've missed nearly the entire party! Neville had to give your speech, by the way." He linked arms with him and pulled him back towards the festivities, calling out to his family and their friends that he'd found him.


	6. Chapter 6

Ron and Hermione weren't due to come back from their honeymoon until after the New Year. Harry had kept himself busy developing left-over rolls of film in his darkroom - it was the only room in the old house that fit all of his needs, converted from what the trio assumed had once been the Black family potion's lab.

It wasn't until the day before his friends were due back, as Harry was clearing out space in the attic with the intent of converting it into a proper office for himself and his small, budding business that all hell seemed to break loose in the wizarding world of Britain.

Harry had the wireless playing as he cleaned, the solitary window open to help air out the space he and his friends had refused to tackle when they'd fully moved in. He was scrubbing the grime of... well, he didn't want to think about it much... off the floorboards by hand with a nice lavender scented muggle cleaner when the Quidditch match he'd been listening to was interrupted by some breaking report. He hadn't paid it much mind - something about a wave of reports coming in claiming long standing curses were unexpectedly and inexplicably broken with many claiming to have never known they'd been cursed in the first place. Harry couldn't really catch what was said as he'd been accosted by a patronus bearing his friend at the Prophet's voice.

"Potter, I need you ASAP. Skeeter, the cheeky bitch, stole Dennis from me," the little field mouse said. "Get a camera and meet me in the ministry lobby in twenty minutes. Make sure you've got your press pass."

Not wanting to spill anything he instead vanished the bucket of cleaner before hurrying down the ladder and running to his bedroom the next floor down. A quick change of clothes, a scourgify on himself (and boy did that leave a sting), and his replacement glamour object Hermione had given him before she and Ron had left for Portugal. He checked his watch, shrunk his camera bag for the trip through the floo and left with four minutes to spare.

 **oooo**

Draco and Narcissa sat patiently in the office of the head of Ministry of Archives, Records, and Registries. To Draco's immediate right sat Astoria and Pansy Parkinson with their son, Scorpius. The babe slept in a muggle contraption that Draco had explained to his mother was a "carrier".

"Alright," the department head, a wizard old enough to be even Narcissa's grandfather, stroked his beard and looked up at the odd assortment of people before his desk. "We'll take care of the simplest issues first. Mrs. Malfoy?"

She opened her handbag, removing a parchment and floating it to the man's desk. This was followed by a scroll with a Gringotts seal hanging off the bottom.

The old man, the nameplate on his desk called him Howard Nigglestaff, examined the first parchment, then the Gringotts document and gave a small nod. He pulled out a large rubber stamp that was nearly larger than his own hands and dropped the heavy thing onto a large pad of ink. Then he dropped it onto the parchment. He quickly duplicated it and set it aside into a wire basket. He did the same with the scroll, duplicated it, and repeated. The originals he sent back to Narcissa.

"Done and done. You are once again Ms. Narcissa Black. Though how you gained Mr. Potter's signature given his history with your family, I'll never know," the old man said, then turned to Pansy and Astoria with a bright smile. "I know he's but a wee thing and normally we don't do this sort of thing until the little ones are four years old," he said, and when their faces fell, he winked at them. "But I've looked over your request and sent it over to a colleague of mine in America. She's given me a newer method for the wee ones."

He peered over his desk to get a better look at the boy and gave them a gap-toothed grin. "Good, already asleep. Will make this much easier. Take this incantation, supply your own names, mind, and then the parent doing the adopting pricks their finger. A tiny prick will do. Draw those runes, in that order. One on each cheek and one on the forehead. Recite the second incantation and you're done."

"It's really that easy?" Astoria said, blinking at him.

He nodded. "You two go scurry off to the corner for some privacy while I take care of the details," he said, pulling out a small stack of parchments and turning to Draco. "You'll need to sign these before that's made official," he said.

Draco read each one over carefully, taking his time even with the finest of print before signing each one. One to relinquish any blood claims to the child, since he was the biological father of the boy. Another disinheriting him - at Draco's request - and his entire bloodline later on, so that none could claim any scrap of what may remain of the Malfoy name and relics once he and his mother were finished dissolving the ancient and noble house.

Other documents were small, relating specifically to lineage and blood ties. As each one was signed, and sealed with a drop of Draco's blood each, they were triplicated. The originals sitting in the basket while the rest were stamped and signed off, then rolled into a tight scroll and sealed.

When Pansy and Astoria had finished, the wisps of Malfoy blond on the boy's head had already started to darken to a soft brown. He had a little more color in his cheeks, the characteristic pale complexion of his father's lineage replaced with a more pinkish-peach of the Parkinson line. Part of him regretted his decision, and indeed his friends had offered to let him remain as Scorpius's father in the eyes of Magic. But Draco was the one who had insisted it was best for the child to not be a Malfoy. To be given the chance to grow up away from the spotlight it brought and the stigma and whispers that would dog the name well after the wars that had tainted it so.

Much to Draco's surprise, before the two ladies and child left they had insisted on making Draco the boy's godfather. They had actually refused to leave the office until it was officially on record. Draco had no choice but to agree.

When the three women had finally left, Draco made himself comfortable. He was going to be there a while with Mr. Nigglestaff.

 **oooo**

"So what's the rush?" Harry asked, tucking his glamour pendant into his shirt so it wouldn't get tangled with his press pass, which also hung around his neck. He'd unshrunk his camera bag, taken out his camera, and re-shrunk the bag to put in his pocket with relative ease as they walked. They flashed their badges to get past reception without a hassle.

"Two hours ago the Malfoys and the Parkinsons were spotted in Diagon Alley coming out of Gringotts. Shortly after they were spotted here at the ministry heading for the Archives and Registries."

Harry listened as Leanne explained about the anonymous tip-off the Prophet received, and how Rita had grabbed the only photographer working that day and made a beeline to the Ministry. He tuned her out mostly by the time they reached the cordoned off area near the lifts where other press had seemed to gather. All jockeying for a position to ask the best questions first.

"We'll never get anything like this," Leanne complained.

Harry surveyed the crowd, then turned his attention to the aurors blocking the way. He grinned. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear as he pointed to one of the aurors.

"No way..." she whispered.

He nodded.

"You'd actually-"

He nodded again. "Stick close to me. If anyone else notices it will be like blood in the water around these sharks."

Harry took her hand, pulling him with her through the crowd as he made his way around the far edge. When he was certain they wouldn't be separated he gave her a small nod. She turned to keep watch as he dropped his glamour just a bit.

"Hey Macmillan," Harry said, catching the auror's attention with a smile. "Can you do a favor for some old friends?" He brushed the hair from his face, making sure the remnants of his horcrux scar could be easily seen. It took a few moments as Harry dropped the glamour completely, just for a few seconds before raising it back up so no one would notice it was him.

Ernie glanced at the rest of the crowd of press. "I don't know..."

Harry silently cast a muffalato. "How about this, Ernie. Remember back in auror training before I quit, you uh... made an offer?"

Ernie swallowed.

"You get us in for an exclusive before Skeeter and I'm all yours for a night. What do you say?"

"I... Not even for you. I could lose my job," he whispered.

"Well, can't say I didn't try," Harry said, slightly relieved that his plan had failed after all. He canceled out the muffalato and turned to Leanne. "Plan B. When I give you the signal, you run for those elevators. We might not get photos but you can still get the scoop," he said.

"Oh God..." she whispered, eyes wide as he gave a small nod. "What... what's the signal?"

"Trust me, you'll know it when you hear it," he said. The two of them went back into the crowd, and Harry shoved her forward towards the elevators once he knew she'd have a chance to get there. Then...

Taking a deep breath, he used the cover of the crowd to hide his camera and his press pass to ensure they were safe, and then dropped the glamour entirely. He counted as he waited, eyes closed until he heard the first shout of his name and heard the first shutter of the cameras.

When he opened his eyes, he could see Leanne running past the aurors who had made for the crowd to get them dispersed, or at least get them a little settled in the presence of the Savior of Wizardom. His partner in crime stopped long enough to wave at him before pushing her way into an elevator, parchment and quill in hand.

 **oooo**

"There is no precedent for what you have chosen to do, Mr. Malfoy," he said as he examined the documentation. The sheer amount of it had taken over the man's desk so much that he'd been forced to expand the desk twice just to fit it all on the surface. "Your ancestors certainly had a taste for blood magic." Mr. Nigglestaff shook his head with a sigh.

"These are all the outstanding curses I could find. I'm magically exhausted from spending the last few weeks breaking all of them. Most could be done from home but some..." he trailed off as Nigglestaff held up an old tome bearing the Malfoy crest. He compared what was in the tome to the documents Draco had brought with him, shrunken down for ease of transport. "If there are any others I may have missed, I will of course set about breaking those as well."

"I see no other curses outstanding," he said at last, setting the tome down. "You do understand that once you've done this, you can never go back. The House of Malfoy will be utterly extinguished. All future issue will be of an entirely new house and new bloodline."

Draco shook his head. "I... I've done research over the last three years," he said. "There is a bloodline that was absorbed by the duFoi lineage that I would like to revive if possible."

"By the duFoi? The precursor to Malfoy... hm..." Nigglestaff frowned in thought reached for a piece of parchment and scribbled a quick note before dropping it into a bowl on his desk. The parchment burned and then, suddenly, in a second wire basket on his desk, appeared a scroll. Nigglestaff snatched it up, looked it over, and unfurled it. The scroll hit the desk, kept rolling, fell to the floor and rolled right past Draco towards the door. "Well then... that IS quite a long way back... Do you have a specific name? Something for me to search for?"

"Vivian," he said quickly. "Lady Vivian of Eire."

"You mean that... Do not waste my time with fictional characters," the old man snapped.

"No, it's true. I swear to Merlin, Morgana, and anyone else that I might need to. It's the truth. It's how I broke most of those curses. She was very fond of death magic."

Nigglestaff narrowed his eyes before turning back to the scroll. He moved quickly, scanning each and every little line. He was halfway through the scroll before he found a name. "Vivian, Princess of Eire and Mistress of Death, wife of Lord Ambrose duFoi and mother of Lord Lucien duFoi."

The old man peered over the old scroll at him. "It seems... you were correct, Mr. Malfoy."

Begrudgingly the old man rolled up the scroll, placed it in the basket it had arrived in, and it was gone. He made a second note and dropped it into the bowl. Much as the first had, the second burned and another scroll appeared. "This is the last offer to rescind your intent. Are all your fiances and affairs in order? You will no longer have access to any of the Malfoy assets after this."

Draco nodded. "I'm certain. The name must die, and the house with it. We have brought nothing but pain and suffering for so many for centuries. I'm ending it."

The old man picked up the scroll, and after a careful read through he used his magic to gather up the mess of documents showing the broken curses throughout the magical community. He laid the scroll out across the desk, giving Draco the opportunity to read through it thoroughly. Every line and every word, Draco made sure he completely understood before moving forward through the blocks of handwritten text on the parchment.

When at last he was at the bottom he reached for the quill. Instead, he was handed a knife. He was startled at first, until he stopped to consider what it was he was doing. The death of one bloodline and the reclaiming of another.

One that didn't even have a surname attached to it. He could very well end up simply being Draco Nobody for the rest of his days. No magic to cut his hand, a true wound was necessary for this type of magic. To show his dedication, his conviction to his decision.

Draco cut his right palm, his wand hand, and squeezed it over the bottom of the parchment scroll. The ring on his hand burned, and he was forced to remove it. The ring of Lordship for House Malfoy.

He looked down at the scroll as, in what looked like his handwriting, his name began to take form in blood.

"Well," he said looking up at the old man with a smirk after the surname began to fill in. "At least I don't have to replace my monogram stationary."


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days were a flurry of activity for Harry - or rather - for James Padfoot as Leanne and Rita seemed to be racing one another in an attempt to get the best scoops. He'd hardly had time to properly welcome his friends back home before having to rush out the door again to meet Leanne at some posh wizarding district in Edinburgh for another interview with a lovely young woman who's family was freed of a centuries old curse that had made every single person born or married into the family blind with no magical cure.

Now that she could see, in return for her interview the Daily Prophet editors, seeing it as a great PR opportunity, gave the woman a free year's subscription to their paper.

When he had time to slow down and finally have a meal at his own table instead of shoving a sandwich in his face as he dashed from one job to the next, Harry had a stack of Daily Prophets and Quibblers in front of him as he tried to catch up on what, exactly, was going on in their world.

Hermione set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him and picked up one of the back issues. She settled in at the table where Ron had been sitting half an hour before rushing off late to work. "Harry Potter spotted at the Ministry of Magic," she read aloud before wrinkling her nose distastefully.

"What?" he said, half a strip of bacon hanging out of his mouth. "It was the only way to get Leanne past the aurors. And that's after I tried to bribe Ernie."

"You did what?"

He raised his tone just a little and widened his eyes to show false innocence. "Don't get mad, it didn't even work."

"Harry if he had taken your bribe he could have lost his job."

She was right, of course. Ernie had said as much after Harry had propositioned him in the first place. He mostly put up a pout for show as he went back to reading. He turned the page of the most recent issue of the Prophet to see a large picture of Malfoy Manor with aurors swarming around. He frowned, scanning the article below it as his frown continued to deepen.

"Has Ron mentioned a raid at Malfoy's recently?"

Hermione sipped her tea. "No, why?"

He folded the paper to make it easier to hand to her, the article and photo facing up for her to see. She read through it faster than he had and frowned. "It's not a raid as such," she said. "More of a free-for-all..."

She scanned over it one more time before reading some out loud. "Prior to the dissolution of House Malfoy, ministry officials were given permission to enter the estate once the blood wards had failed. Many items were marked for donation to Ministry efforts to rebuild after the war against You-Know-Who while others, such as the Malfoy family portraits, were left abandoned by the former Lord Malfoy."

"Former?" Hermione asked aloud. "I thought-"

"I must have missed that part," Harry said, taking the paper back and skimming through it. He noticed, this time, that Draco and Narcissa were never mentioned by name. Rather any mention of Draco himself was in the past tense, and never using his first name. "He actually did it... I didn't think he was serious but..." Harry put down the paper as he stood, heading straight for the stairs as fast as he could.

He took the steps up from the kitchen two at a time and hurried through the old house for the library.

Hermione, moving much more slowly due to her pregnancy, found him around ten minutes later standing at the wall in front of the Black Family Tree. "Harry-"

"Look," he said, pointing to a branch of the tree near the newly restored branch of Andromeda, Tonks, and Teddy. "Just look."

Hermione covered her mouth as she gasped. There on the tree two names had been changed from the last time they'd looked at it. No longer a Malfoy, Andromeda's sister was Narcissa Black once again. And leading out from her name, with Lucius burned off the tree, was Draco.

Draco Mag Uidhir.

 **oooo**

Spinner's End.

A place Draco had been only twice before. Once as a child and once after the war. He had slept in the abandoned home after his trial, not wishing to return to Wiltshire until his mother was released as from Azkaban as well.

It was here they had returned. Much changed since the last he had seen it. The first room had been cleaned thoroughly and redecorated. The books that had once lined nearly every wall were now confined to the cellar, which had been converted from a wine cellar into a proper library.

His mother, it seemed, had been very busy.

"Well..." Draco said, tossing the Prophet containing the article about his ancestral home into the fireplace. "Our family is no more."

"It was for the best," Narcissa said from her chair, a book open across her lap as she sipped her tea.

"I know my reasons," Draco said, leaning against the mantle and watching the paper curl, the fire eating away at the ink and parchment, at the visage of the Manor and the aurors that swarmed within it. "But you have never told me yours."

"Your father made a promise, one that I laid out the consequences should he break his word." She set down her cup and turned the page in her book. "He broke that promise, and so I did exactly as I had said I would."

Draco's laugh was maudlin. "Surely a broken promise isn't enough to tear down an entire legacy. At least I was willing to let the name die out naturally from sheer spite of father's expectations. What I've helped you do is far more than spite. This is revenge."

She folded her hands over the book in her lap and looked up at him. She watched as he clenched and unclenched the hand at his side. The scars across his fingers and palm from the many curses he had needed to break stood out against his pale skin. Most would fade with time. But some, having been opened and then re-opened more than once would remain as stark reminders of the price he paid for his father's mistakes.

"This was never about revenge, Draco," she said finally. "I loved your father, as much as arranged partners could love. I do not hate your father. I only hate what he had done. When you were born, the Dark Lord was still in power. Your father, and his father served him faithfully, as did my sister and my parents. I did not want that life for you."

Draco did not turn, but the tenseness in his shoulders did ease as he listened to her words behind him.

"I made your father swear to me that you would never be marked for the Dark Lord. You would be no one's slave."

"And he broke that promise," Draco said, turning his head just enough to see her from the corner of his eye. "Not only did he break it, he insisted that I take the Mark."

She nodded. "I could do nothing to prevent it. Not with Bella hounding my every step. But your father could still spirit you away. He could send you to France, to the ancestral lands. Hide you there until Severus could persuade his true master that you meant no harm and sought sanctuary." Narcissa looked away then. Her husband had failed her... her son had become a slave. And her sister would never leave her on her own. She did the only thing she could do in making Severus partake in the Unbreakable Vow. It was her only option left to ensure her son survived for as long as possible.

"Mother, he was afraid. The Dark Lord was in our home, werewolves prowling the estate, and Death Eaters around every corner. In a situation such as that, having me marked was to ensure my survival."

"I would rather you have been killed, free, than watch as you were beaten and abuse as a slave by one who was meant to keep you safe."

Draco turned on her then, blue-gray eyes wide in disbelief. He tried to form words to defend his father but found... none. Instead he looked at his hand, at the scars criss-crossing his palm. Starting with the Weasley curse. The deepest cut. He was certain Minister Shacklebolt had deliberately made the cut just a little too deep. Had used a spell that wouldn't let the scar fade with the use of healing magic like most would.

Many of the curses weren't so old to require more than a drop or two. Many had been done during the Dark Lord's first rise to power. It made him sick, now, knowing the lengths his father had gone to in order to serve his lord's will. Now that he knew his father's works, able to distinguish between the ancient Malfoy works and the more recent, his stomach churned. He made a fist to hide the majority of the scars.

"I was little more than a chess piece," he said. "A bargaining tool between you."

"If that is how you wish to see it," she said. "Your father sought to enslave you. To control you. My wish was to keep you free. Is that so horrible a thing for a mother to want for her child?"

"What do you know of slavery? You never bore the Dark Lord's mark! You were never tortured under his wand for his amusement!"

"You are right," she said, reaching for the button at the top of her blouse. As she began to undo them, exposing more and more pale skin, Draco turned away once again.

"Mother don't."

But she did not stop until she was able to shrug one of the sleeves off her shoulder, exposing a patch of flawless skin. A soft whisper and it darkened. "I was never marked by the Dark Lord. He could not brand me as his because I already belonged to another."

Curiosity overwhelmed his anger, and he did look. Though he wished he hadn't. There on her pale skin a black mark stood out. One all too familiar to him. He had worn it proudly on his finger for years. Had swelled with pride so often as a child when it had been paraded around by his father at every opportunity.

And here it was, seared into his mother's shoulder. Vein-like tendrils at the edges feeding black poison into her body.

The Malfoy family crest.

And it was festering with curse rot.

"No... No..." he whispered, coming to her side and reaching out, but he held off from touching it. He knew from experience how painful it was to have even the lightest of touches against the infected flesh. "Did father..."

She shook her head. "No. Your grandfather. Just as your father would have marked your bride to be. And you were expected to do for your son."

"How long have you... how long has it been..."

"I have successfully kept it at bay for two years," she said, a soft smile playing on her lips. "When I leave here, I will be going to Venice to live out my remaining days with my Match."

"It can be treated now. They can remove it. Just like mine. Sure it won't be pretty and I won't lie it still hurts, but you don't have to die from this."

She shook her head and covered the brand again. "I have already been to the healers. I have exhausted every light and dark spell there is to combat this. The rot has set in too deep for too long."

"You can't give up. There must be another way!"

"If there were, I would not take it."

"Why not?! After everything you've done, you-"

She sighed and shook her head as she refastened her buttons. "I am tired, Draco. My fight is over. I have learned to accept this. you must accept it as well."

 **oooo**

Ron didn't believe it. Not until he saw it for himself on the wall of their library.

Over the next few weeks, more and more reports of the Former Malfoys started to come out through the papers. It seemed as if each article was more scandalous than the last. One went into excruciating detail about Lucius Malfoy's intimidation tactics and use of manipulating members of the Wizengmont using ancient blood curses on their families. Another was an interview with, of all things, the only portrait of Lucius himself, which didn't amount to much more than Rita's usual sensationalism.

Dotted throughout the Prophet though were smaller, more factual pieces. An interview with Astoria and Pansy Parkinson which briefly mentioned Astoria's former arranged betrothal to Draco and Pansy's former contract with the Goyles. One of Harry's photos from their bonding ceremony had been supplied along with one that Harry took at the interview itself.

An advice column had been taken over by people who had no idea what to do with themselves now that their Malfoy related curses were broken.

But amongst it all, there had only been one scrap of information about Draco and Narcissa themselves. A couple of throw-away couple of sentences in the Announcements section stating the two had dissolved the Malfoy household and that Narcissa was due to remarry within the month.

And life at Grimmauld Place went on. The trio studied up on baby-proofing magic. Harry finished clearing out the attic for his home office between jobs. Ron even received a promotion unexpectedly as the rest of his family began to find themselves the recipients of good fortune and better luck. Especially now that the Malfoy curse on them had been lifted and the long lost family fortune had mysteriously been rediscovered in a vault in Spain of all places.

Even Hermione's efforts to get laws changed and amended through the Ministry Department of Magical Creatures had started to see some success. It was as if with the downfall of the Malfoy family, the utter destruction of the house and name, a great weight had been lifted from Wizarding Britain.


	8. Chapter 8

Life for Draco had settled down after the fall of his father's house. Once the secrets of his family had come to light he and his mother had maintained a low profile. After the dust settled, he accompanied her to Venice to meet her true intended match.

That in itself had been rather awkward given how... badly things had ended between himself and Blaise. They had simply wanted different things. Blaise had wanted to carry on as they had - a friendship with benefits, no strings attached. Draco had been fine with that, until he wasn't. The romantic in him wanted more than desperate sex in the loo at the ministry, or sneaking out before dawn so Blaise's other 'special' friends didn't catch him.

Having sat at tea with his ex-lover while their mothers fawned over one another had been more than awkward. It had been practically humiliating as afterward Blaise's fiance had just happened to stop by on a spur of the moment and met Draco... or rather re-met Draco.

He never did like Millicent.

Draco stayed in Venice for a time, taking advantage of the Zabini library for research before returning to his chosen family in Cardiff. Astoria and Pansy welcomed him back, even if his stay at home was short-lived.

Inspiration had struck him as he dug deep into the lore he had built his novels upon. Now free of the Malfoy name, he could come and go as he pleased in many places without having to worry about the press nor old family friends deciding to try and pay him a bit of revenge. He spent only four months back in Cardiff before leaving again for Ireland.

Draco traveled from one wizarding district to another, hunting books and old scrolls. Maps, parchments, anything he could get his hands on that might give him some iota of information about the lost princess Vivian and her kingdom. Eventually his search led him to a ruin. Hidden from muggles and nearly all of the magical community. The guide he had hired to help him get there had refused to take him into the ruins, only to them and had disappeared quickly after Draco dropped coin into his hand, telling him only that the place was haunted by beasts and foul creatures.

He set up a campsite near the ruins, setting up his wizard's tent with all the protections he knew. He had set up a small library consisting of duplicated books, scrolls, and other research materials. It was here, with only his typewriter for company and a nearby wizard's village, that Draco had begun his next great project.

And for a year, he worked at the ruins. Unearthing anything and everything that he could from the site that haunted his dreams.

 **oooo**

Weeks turned into months. And months turned into a year. One year became two.

In that time the dreams had changed. No more princesses and royal bastards. Now he dreamed of wizards and witches fighting in brutal civil wars. Burning one another at the stake. Green marble keeps became cold but familiar gray stone. Armor replaced with wizard's robes. Soft, furtive touches came needy and desperate liaisons in the darkest corners of an old Scottish castle.

To keep his mind off the changing dreams and the implications they presented him Harry had kept himself busy. He still worked out of his home, but had also opened a small studio off Knockturn Alley where the rent was far cheaper than the main.

And yet... As Harry stood at his attic window sorting through his mail, his new and very disheveled looking owl adjusting herself on her perch in the corner, he found himself unable to really share in everyone's good spirits. He was happy for his friends and adopted family of course. He was going to be an uncle, of a sort. And there was Teddy and Andromeda as well. And yet...

A few times a week he woke with the reminder that because of who he was, his own supposed perfect match had been scared off. Seemingly the man had disappeared overnight as if he had never existed. Harry had given up hope of ever seeing him again, and yet as he sorted through his mail, he found himself staring down at a letter from Astoria Parkinson that had come with a thick packet.

Harry went to his desk and dumped the contents of the packet out. He consulted the letter from Astoria again, then turned to the two thick stacks of muggle paper on his desk. Each one bound with large metal clips. The top page of each one was plain save for a neatly typed title, date, and name. It was the name that had made him consult the letter a third time before he picked up one to take with him downstairs to read as he made a fresh pot of coffee. It was obvious this was going to need more than a cup of strong tea.

Harry spent all day reading through the drafts that had been sent to him. He left the attic only to get something more to eat and drink before returning to the two manuscripts. When he finally finished, he sat for a long while trying to decide what to do. Part of him wanted to take the lot downstairs and throw them into the fireplace. The rest wanted to write back to Astoria to ask her what he was meant to do with all of this information.

When Hermione found him in the late evening to tell him supper was ready, he showed her the letter and the two manuscripts he'd received.

"Oh Harry... I'm so sorry..." she'd said.

 **oooo**

As winter once more turned into spring and business picked up for Harry, he had become so busy that the manuscripts Astoria had sent to him were pushed from his mind.

That is until...

The bell at the top of the photography studio's door chimed. "Just a moment!" Harry had called from behind an ornate silk screen divider. A woman glanced up from the comfortable love-seat that sat to one side of the waiting area, a magazine open in her lap. She gave the new arrival only a cursory glance before putting her attention back on the magazine again.

When Harry had finally come out from behind the screen with an eleven year old in tow wearing Hufflepuff school robes. "See Chase, that wasn't so bad. Mrs. Kensington, we're all done. I'll see you in two weeks to pick up the package you picked out."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"No hocus pocus?"

He shook his head with a smile. "No hocus pocus. Just... a different type of developing fluid." He looked to the boy again. "Make sure your mum doesn't send any muggle relatives the moving ones, alright."

"Yes sir!" he said with a big, proud grin.

Harry turned his attention to Hermione as the mother and son left. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Lunch break," she said, waving a newspaper at him. "Let's go to the back. You might need to sit down."

He frowned at her, but waved his hand towards the door. Locks slid into place and the sign in the window turned to show that he was closed. Harry led the way to the back, past the silk screen and to a door that opened up into a narrow hallway. On either side were a single door. One to a dark room, another to a loo. The door straight ahead led to a small office-like area with a table, a filing cabinet, a small one-eye stove for making tea.

Hermione had become very familiar with the little room, and went straight to the kettle. It was still warm, and so she made Harry a cup of tea as he sat down. "You're not going to believe this. I almost didn't when Ron came to my office to show me on his break."

"You know I don't pay attention to-"

"That's why I'm here to show you." When she finished, she set the tea in front of him, and the rolled up newspaper. When he unrolled it, he found it was already turned to the page Hermione had wanted him to see. He scanned the page and let it fall back to the table with a frown on his face. "So the jerk has a new book out."

"Harry he disappears without a trace after you tell him who you are. Now two years later, he's appeared out of nowhere with another book, and this," she said, pulling an envelope out of her robes and setting it on the table beside the tea. "It arrived not long after you left this morning."

When Hermione left half an hour later, the letter still sat unopened and his tea gone cold. Harry checked his bookings for the day and closed up after the last one. The letter was still unopened when he lay down to bed that night.

 **oooo**

 _"You... you... I should turn you into a toad!" he shouted angrily at the laughing wizard across the meadow. "A big, fat, slimy toad!"_

 _"Salazar, it's not that bad!"_

 _"Not that bad?! NOT THAT BAD!" the pale wizard shouted, yanking the top of his robes open. "Look at it! It's... it's... It's hideous!"_

 _"It is not."_

 _"Oh? So a big, giant, red angry mark covering most of my bloody chest isn't so bad is it? I've got a bloody dragon! On my chest! And you think it's bloody funny do you?!"_

 _"It's just a soul mark. It's not the end of the world."_

 _"And what do I tell my betrothed, huh? Oh don't worry darling, it's just a soul mark. Not like it means anything. Of course I won't ever leave you for whomever it matches."_

 _The red haired wizard shook his head with a sigh. "For all you know your betrothed might have the match," he said in an attempt to settle his friend._

 _He received a glare in response as the man boasting the large red dragon on his chest covered it back up. "You know my inclinations, Godric. It is highly unlikely the waif that mother and father have tied me to will match this monstrosity when she comes of age. The day that happens is the day I'll willingly touch a muggle."_

 _"Muggles aren't so bad either, you know. Some of Helga's best apprentices are muggle born."_

 _"They may be good with a wand, but they'll never do what we can do."_

 _"Is that so bad?"_

 _"Oh Merlin..."_

 _Godric sighed, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. "What NOW, Salazar?"_

 _"What if... what if this thing matches me to a mudblood? Sweet Morganna I'd rather die than be bedded by a dirty mudblood brute."_

 _"If Helga hears you talk like that she'll do more than slap you this time," Godric said. He looked towards the castle. "Come on then. Pick your sodding sweetgrass and let's head back. I'm sure the ladies of the castle have started to worry I might have tried to take your virtue rather than simply give you an age day gift."_

 _He didn't look back at his friend, instead keeping his eyes on the castle in the distance._

 _"If you wanted to..." the pale wizard said softly, but was cut off._

 _"Do you like the knife?," Godric said to quickly change the subject, "I had Sir Hector's daughter in Cornwall forge it for you special."_

 _Salazar cleared his throat, turning so that his face could not be read so easily. "Yes. It is a very fine quality," he said as he crouched down, using the new knife to collect some cuttings. "And it's called meadow-sweet, not sweetgrass. Sweetgrass would turn my potion into a poison, not a healing salve." He transfigured a rock into a clay jar for his cuttings, the silver knife catching the light of the midday sun as he worked. He kept his back to his friend._

 _After some time Godric finally spoke. "Not all are as accepting as I am when it comes to... your inclinations. These are dangerous times, even among the muggle folk. Had we not been both born with magic in our veins our deviancy alone would see us stoned to death, or worse burned at the stake." He wiped at his brow and sighed. "Just... try to find some happiness with Mistress Peverell. As I have with Lady Geneva. Use potions if you must-"_

 _"Is that what you do? Use potions?"_

 _Godric didn't answer, instead he started towards the castle. "Come on. We've dallied long enough. They'll send a search party after us soon!"_

 **oooo**

" _Dreamer's Bond_ " she read from the front flap of the dust jacket as they waited in line. Harry groaned as Hermione continued. Ron, the lucky sod, had wandered off the moment they'd touched down outside the shop - gone to have a pint since the line was out the door. At least, that was his excuse for not sticking around and keeping Harry company.

" _Childhood rivals Lucas Moorwind and Jacob Preston find themselves on opposite sides of a deadly Wizard's War-_ "

"Please stop," Harry groaned as he rubbed his temple. Hermione grinned as she kept reading, only doing so aloud when she caught another sentence that piqued her amusement.

" _Will their forbidden passion flourish, or will the tragic dreams of their lost pasts prove that not even true love can overcome the seductive powers of death?_ "

"Remind me why I brought you again..."

Hermione beamed at him, batting her eyelashes in mock innocence. "Because despite receiving a private invitation to lunch after he's through signing his latest book this morning, you're a stubborn git who'd rather hide away in his office with a bottle of firewhisky than accept the fact that you are both overgrown children who should be locked in a broom closet and not let out until you've either snogged or sorted out your problems."

Harry opened his mouth but she reached up and covered it when her hand. "Of which there are many that we can't say out loud otherwise your glamour and his glamour are for naught," she said with a lowered voice.

He rolled his eyes, giving her the most annoyed glare after that he could. When she took her hand away, he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face the front of the line with a frown.

Like hell Harry would admit she was right. So instead, he occupied himself with brooding and an internal monologue that jumped back and forth between berating himself for not realizing the truth sooner and screaming in panic because he really didn't want to be there and yes he would very much like to hide in his attic with the firewhisky thank you very much.

Because it wasn't every day you realized that you didn't recognize the same mannerisms you'd spent six years of your life - one of which was spent obsessively stalking the man in question - observing every single day for the greater part of a year.

Like the way Mawdryn would always sniff his pumpkin juice before taking a sip, to check that it wasn't poisoned. Even if he'd poured it himself. Or the way that he would turn his face just so when he gave a huff of annoyance or disdain at something Harry viewed as insignificant and meaningless. Or the way he would put his hand to his arm, always the right hand to the left forearm, whenever he found something unpleasant or troubling.

They moved along in the line, a few more steps closer to what could be the best or quite more realistically the third worst moment of his life.


End file.
